isleworth
by stanzaic
Summary: In which Kalyn McCall wanders through some woods, runs over a hot werewolf, solves a murder mystery, discovers a few conspiracies, and fights with her idiot twin brother. AKA just another Tuesday in Beacon Hills. Eventual Derek/OC.
1. A Sunday Afternoon

**ISLEWORTH**

November 11, 2016

* * *

 _CHAPTER ONE_

 _A SUNDAY AFTERNOON IN THE COUNTY OF BEACON HILLS_

* * *

No one believed us when we told them why we went into the woods.

Of course, it didn't help that it was midnight at Sisterhood Camp, and neither me nor Ava had been on our best behavior. Erica was the good one, and Riley was so quiet she always avoided detection, whether she was good or bad. Riley wouldn't have been caught when the rest of us were if she hadn't wanted to see it, too.

It was the end of a hot, muggy August, and I had hated every second of my week at Sisterhood Camp. I was never a fan of anything remotely organized and hadn't even wanted to go in the first place, but my mother had thought it would be a good idea to get me out of the house. She probably thought it would help me maintain my sanity after the divorce, and she'd never been so wrong. Sitting around campfires and being forced to sing songs with people you don't even know is not a good way to maintain sanity.

I was up to my usual tricks around midnight. My cabin counselor was never particularly adept and was out cold, and had been for at least thirty minutes. Two of my other cabin members were whispering to each other and giggling, but I didn't care about what. Instead I quietly climbed out of bed, pulled on my dinosaur socks and my hiking boots, and snuck out of the cabin with my flashlight.

Once I was outside I paused and released a breath. The air was sticky warm and it smelled like honeysuckle. I turned and crept off the main path, walking over mulch and dry grass to reach Ava's cabin first. It was the closest.

When I drew closer to the cabin I found Ava already sneaking out. I beamed at her. "Hey!" I whisper-shouted, quickening my pace.

Ava glanced over and grinned back. "I am so ready for this," she told me. Her accent was thicker then. She glanced back to double-check that her cabin door was shut before turning toward me. "Where did you see it?"

"We have to get Riley and Erica first," I answered.

"I'll get Erica," said Ava. "You get Riley. We can meet by the flag."

We nodded at each other, already determined, and then turned to go in our different directions. I was about three feet away when I heard Ava trip over a bush, and when I looked back, she was still standing, arms out for balance. I snickered to myself and turned around to resume focusing on my own path.

Riley's cabin was the furthest away, and it was closest to the dark lake. It wasn't hard to follow the smooth, wide dirt path to the cabin itself, and it was even easier tonight, since the moon was full. I was pretty sure I wouldn't even need my flashlight. But I remember reasoning that I could use it for a weapon, just in case.

I had to sneak into Riley's cabin to find her. Her counselor was in the bathroom, the fluorescent light on and the shower running. I tip-toed over to where I could see Riley's long black hair splayed out all over her glow-in-the-dark Buzz Lightyear pillowcase. "Hey," I whispered when I reached her. I leaned over and shook her shoulder. "Ri, wake up."

Riley rolled over and glared at me. "What?" she groused. Then she did a double-take and rubbed her eyes. "Kalyn?"

"Come on," I said, gesturing with my head. "I'm gonna show you and Ava and Erica where I saw the wolf."

Immediately Riley's face brightened. "Count me in," she answered, already climbing out of bed. I moved so she could put on her scuffed sneakers. After Riley arranged her black jacket on her pillow in a way that almost made it resemble her hair, we made sure her counselor was still in the shower—she was, and quietly singing Britney Spears—and snuck out.

When we made it outside and a few feet down the path, Riley and I both relaxed a little. "I'm gonna be so mad if we don't see it," Riley told me.

"I'm sure we'll see it," I answered. "It probably lives there."

In hindsight, the whole plan was really stupid; but in our defense, we were nine. Finding a wolf in the woods at midnight on the night of the full moon was a cool idea, not a stupid one. None of us even thought it might be stupid.

Riley and I met Ava and Erica at the silver flag pole in the middle of camp. Erica's blonde curls were piled on top of her head and she looked tired, but she always did. "Do you think it's a werewolf?" Erica whispered when Riley and I reached her.

Ava glanced at her, already scoffing, but I shrugged. "Could be," I said.

Riley elbowed me in the ribs. "Could not."

Erica and I exchanged glances. Both of us believed in things like werewolves. We both believed in mermaids and unicorns, too. How could anyone tell us we were wrong? The existence of such creatures couldn't be disproved. And I never trusted anything the government or science told me, with the exception of cool planet facts, so no amount of disproving would work anyway.

I led the way into the woods. We passed the director's cabin and the cafeteria, and soon we were out in the trees, walking along one of the back hiking paths. As we drew further and further away from the camp, Ava's voice grew louder and louder. "Kelsey said Chad from the Boy Scout camp kissed her," I heard her say.

"Gross," said Riley. "He has a pizza face."

All three of them laughed, and I smirked to myself. Then I focused on finding my way to the last place I saw the dark shape in the undergrowth, where I'd heard bushes rustling even more than usual and turned and glimpsed something alive. Something big.

We reached it in a matter of minutes. I slowed down and led the way off the path. "Shh," I hissed back to my best friends, as we approached the location. All three of them went silent as we crept together through the grass and the leaves. I impatiently swatted aside an elephant leaf as we went: and then I stopped.

Erica, Ava, and Riley all stopped beside me. I could hear all four of us breathing, and that was it, besides the occasional owl hooting and some general rustling of leaves and undergrowth. Then, as we scoured the site for any sign of movement, I saw it.

"There," I whispered, pointing and smacking Ava's arm. "There!"

In the undergrowth, several yards away, two bronze-colored eyes had appeared. There was some shape low to the ground, lingering there. "Oh my God," whispered Erica. She grabbed my other arm. "Does it look like—"

But we couldn't figure anything else out, because that was when the camp director caught us. Roughly five people crashed into the woods, flashlights bright on our faces and the woods around us. Neither Ava nor Riley had gotten the chance to find the bronze-colored eyes in the undergrowth, but Erica and I saw them. We knew something had been out there, and I knew I'd seen a wolf the night before.

Of course we couldn't focus on this, because we were marched back to the main building, where the museum-type exhibits about the camp were, and told we were going to receive disciplinary action. "Why were you out there in the first place?" demanded Mrs. Fisher, the camp director. "What on Earth has gotten into you four?"

"We wanted to see the wolf!" said Riley.

"Werewolf," Erica corrected.

All of the counselors exchanged glances. None of them were amused. "There aren't any wolves in California," said the camp director's assistant David. He was always patronizing and derisive and then was no different. "There haven't been any in years. And werewolves don't exist."

Both Erica and I were used to hearing this, and we looked at each other and rolled our eyes. That only served to make the counselors angrier. "There was something," Ava offered, while the counselors tried to decide what to do with us. "We didn't get to see what it was."

"It certainly wasn't a werewolf," remarked David.

"We're sending you home tomorrow morning," said Mrs. Fisher with authority. "And that's final."

* * *

I thought about Sisterhood Camp that night more than I usually did. Some days I forgot that had happened at all, and other days Ava brought it up; and on other days, like that one, I certainly remembered.

This time it was a cold and dark January night upon which I had another encounter nobody but Ava would believe. I had a lot of those, especially from middle school. It would have been an otherwise typical Saturday evening; I was one of the last cashiers at the supermarket on Carson, and Ryan the bag boy was trying to fit Frosted Flakes in a plastic bag with kettle corn.

"That doesn't make any sense," he said to me, as he went about this. Both of us were kind of ignoring the customers—although, for the record, I always made sure to greet them and smile. "How could there be a photograph if the government is covering it up?"

"The government screwed up!" I protested as I pushed the correct buttons in the cash register. "There are bound to be mistakes in cover-ups this big!" With that I looked down and counted out the change, and then turned toward the older woman waiting for Ryan to pass her the Frosted Flakes. "Your change is five thirty-eight."

"Thank you," said the woman, gingerly accepting the change.

I vaguely side-eyed her but dismissed it, instead turning back toward Ryan, who was handing the woman her plastic bags. "Nibiru is real," I told Ryan. He managed to give the lady her bags and turned toward me, too, putting one hand on his hip and raising his eyebrows. "Doomsday is on its way. The government knows we'd panic if we knew."

Ryan snorted. "How can you speak on behalf of the government?"

"The government isn't here to defend itself," I replied. Ryan laughed, and I turned to find our last customer, a frazzled twenty-something with three bags of frozen chicken strips, a bottle of expensive wine, and a head of lettuce. "Hi," I said politely to her as I started scanning her items. As I scanned them she somehow also produced a box of oatmeal and a can of chicken broth. "Fan of chicken?"

The twenty-something girl looked at me suddenly, and for a second I was sure I'd managed to offend her. Then I was sure she'd either died or fallen asleep staring at me. "Yeah," she said, after we'd maintained eye contact for way too long. I decided she hadn't slept in days. "Sorry. Yeah, I like chocolate."

I didn't bother correcting her and instead glanced back toward Ryan, who was studiously putting away the twenty-something's groceries in plastic bags. "If you were a government, would you want your citizens to panic?" I asked him.

"I wouldn't be a government," said Ryan firmly.

I decided this was as good as the conversation was going to get. I missed Wesley, the usual bag boy at my register. We always talked about conspiracy theories and he was always up for learning more. I'd tell him about Nibiru the next time I worked with him. I considered—that would be Wednesday, probably, since Meredith had asked for my Sunday shift.

The twenty-something finished checking out and soon Ryan was helping her carry her groceries out. She was the last customer in the store, and I closed my register. Lindsay Hart, the night manager, was closing up Customer Service, from what I could see.

We went about our usual nightly routine of closing the supermarket. Ryan, Lindsay, and I parted ways in the parking lot. "Have a good night, you two," Lindsay called as she clicked over to her Honda in her black heels. Ryan and I answered with similar sentiments, and then the two of us split up, too, Ryan heading over to climb into the Lincoln idling by the curb.

I'd obtained my mother's sedan for the evening, and it was parked under one of the few flickering lights in the parking lot. I headed over, swung open the driver's side door, and threw my bag into the passenger's seat. Then I climbed in and started the car. At least I was on time, I noted. My mother had the late night/early morning shift at the hospital and she always took the car after I returned it.

Normally I would have taken the highway, because on most occasions nobody was out. But the DJ on the pop radio station I usually had on reported that there was congestion on the northern-bound highway due to an accident. This was truly unfortunate not only due to the accident, but also because I knew there was construction going on, and that would have slowed everyone down anyway.

I decided to take some back roads to reach my house hopefully on time. I didn't really know these particular back roads, and it was currently even harder to distinguish landmarks from the dark line of trees alongside the streets, given that it was midnight. I took a couple of turns I thought I knew and soon reached the back of a neighborhood near mine. The only reason I recognized it was because I remembered back when Erica had lived over here—there was a river in the woods behind this neighborhood. We used to catch tadpoles there together.

There was a deserted three-way stop behind this neighborhood, and trees on all sides of the road, besides the one with the one-story houses on it. Even though nobody else was out and driving around, I halted at the stop sign. Right as I started to move forward again, though, a dark shape materialized in front of my car—but my foot was already on the gas pedal and it was too late, I rammed into it with my mother's car—

"Shit," I blurted. I stopped the car, slamming it into park and rather frantically yanking on the emergency brake. I jumped out of the driver's seat and ran around to the front of the car. Had I hit a deer or a person? Or was I just as crazy as Poppy Trent used to tell me?

I discovered that, although the crazy part was debatable, I really had hit someone.

For a second I stopped and stared, wide-eyed, at my unintended victim. He was just laying on the ground, eyes closed. All I could tell was that he was kind of a big dude, muscular and probably tall. There was a lot of him. "Uh," I found myself saying. "Sir?"

He didn't answer. Which made sense, as I'd just run him over.

I glanced around the three-way stop a little guiltily, like that rude old lady might emerge from the woods, waving her box of Frosted Flakes at me and blaming me for killing her son. But I saw no people emerging from the woods and no headlights from any direction, and even the backs of the houses I could see didn't have many lights on. All I could see were the graffiti-littered stop signs and the cracked empty roads, and, of course, the dark woods on all sides.

 _Shit,_ I thought, looking back down at the dude. Did I just murder a guy?

I told myself not to panic. I didn't know if he was dead. Running on that thought I moved to kneel down beside the guy. I hesitated to quickly glance over him—there were no blossoming bloodstains on or under him, and nothing looked terribly broken, but considering I'd literally just mowed him down with my mother's car, he might have had internal bleeding or brain damage.

I shifted slightly in order to cautiously lean over and put two fingers to his neck, checking his pulse.

Which was definitely there.

"Oh thank God," I blurted. I released a breath of relief and leaned back again, looking down at the guy. His neck had been kind of bristly, like he needed to shave.

A beat later I realized that I had somehow managed to take down some random ridiculously good-looking guy. Nope, I thought, he didn't need to shave, the beard stubble was A++, 10/10, would stare at his face for days. Then I grimaced. _Damn,_ I thought. This was quite a predicament.

Before he could wake up and get angry, I straightened up. Then it occurred to me that I should definitely call 911 just in case. I hurried back over around the open driver's side door and leaned into the sedan to pluck up my phone from where I'd left it in the cup holder.

I leaned back out and started to dial 911; as I did, I half-automatically turned to take a few steps back around to the front of my car. Except this time when I reached the front, there was nobody on the broken asphalt in front of my bumper. "911, how can I help you?" said a woman on the other end of the line.

Next thing I knew someone was snatching the phone out of my hand from behind. I turned: the guy, upright and looking totally fine in more ways than one, had taken my phone. As I watched, increasingly bewildered, he said into the phone, "It's a false alarm." Then he hung up and looked straight at me.

For a second we both just stared at each other. _Oh my Lord,_ I thought, tempted to laugh, because the guy was even hotter than I'd originally thought, and this was truly saying something. He had short black hair, flicked up a little in the front, a sharp angular jaw with that delicious beard stubble, broad shoulders, visibly muscular arms, and absolutely lovely green eyes.

Stupidly, beyond a both appreciative and embarrassed _Fuck me_ , my next thought was that his eyes reminded me of _The Great Gatsby_. Which was ridiculous, partly because that was what I was thinking and partly because I knew the green light Jay Gatsby had stared at from the end of his dock had probably been fluorescent. A fluorescent light would have been more reminiscent of the lights in Beacon High's hallway than anything. I could only justify this comparison with my car's headlights.

"I'm fine," said the guy, when the silence had already been way too long.

I blinked at him. _You're telling me,_ I thought. Dammit, I really needed to say something that was not inappropriate or incoherent. Get it together, I told myself. "I did just run you over, though," I pointed out. "With a car."

"And I'm fine," the guy repeated. His expression was stony. "Don't call anyone."

"But—you might have some kind of internal—"

The guy held my phone out. I took it back from him, and our hands brushed briefly. "You just bumped me," said the guy. I furrowed my eyebrows at him, because the dude had been flat out on the ground. "It's fine." He took a step backward. "You can go ahead and leave. I won't press charges."

"Uh, yeah, you were unconscious," I said. "This could be a concussion talking."

"I'm not sure that's how concussions work," said the guy. This managed to surprise me even more, because he said this with a hint of dry humor, and he'd just been run over by a freaking car. "And anyway I'm fine."

"Stop saying that!" I protested. I turned to look back down at where he'd been before, gesturing emphatically at the spot with my phone. "You can't be fine, I just—"

Then I stopped, because when I turned to look back at the guy, he had vanished.

That was truly the spookiest part of the whole encounter. I looked around the three-way stop, trying to find him, and didn't. I thought I saw a shadowy movement in the woods to my right, where I knew the river was, but then it was gone and everything was still. I was just standing there by my mother's running car in the headlights, my radio blasting a dumb Old Spice ad, gawking at nothing.

I slowly backed around the front of my car and the open door, doing my best to look all around me as I did.

Still nothing. It was like he'd never been there.

That did it. I fairly flung myself into the driver's seat and slammed my door shut, and locked my car. Then, just in case he was waiting in the backseat with a knife, I whirled around to lean over and check.

I was totally alone.

 _Yikes,_ I thought, quickly stepping on the gas. This was what I got for trying to avoid traffic. And, argh—I was going to be a couple minutes late. It was a wonder my mother wasn't calling me already. She had a sixth sense about these kinds of things. She always knew when I was doing something stupid.

I considered telling her about the whole thing, and then briefly considered telling my twin brother, who was probably home too. But I already knew they'd both look at me funny and my mom would suggest I get some more sleep, and Scott would claim I was crazy. And I was most certainly not crazy. I might have believed in conspiracy theories and werewolves but I knew for sure I'd hit someone with the front of this car. There was no way I hallucinated that.

That weirdo had to have really been there. Maybe he lived nearby, and maybe he'd been high or something. He hadn't smelled like anything but maybe I'd been too distracted by his incredible jaw to notice.

Anyway—I really needed to go back to reading manga before bed instead of novels, because _The Great Gatsby_? Really?

Maybe there was some irony in it. Half the characters in _The Great Gatsby_ died being run over by a car. I snickered to myself and then felt scandalized.

Okay, I told myself, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. No more thinking about the strange _Gatsby_ man or being run over by cars. I had enough to worry about in the coming days. If that dude had really been hurt, he totally would have said something. I decided to leave him off my list of things to worry about.

* * *

I was not good at self-discipline.

"Macey, I'm not kidding," I said into my cell phone the following afternoon, while I tried to shove my feet into my hiking boots. It was a little difficult just using one hand and with wool socks on. "I ran some super-hot guy over last night and all he would say is 'I'm fine, don't call the police.'"

Macey Conrad was one of my current best friends. She wanted to be a radiologist, and mired herself in all things medical; she was even a student trainer, though she hated people. She liked to say she was in it for the money. Presently she scoffed. "There's no way."

"There is a way, and this guy found it!" I retorted. Then I growled in irritation and set my phone down to lean over and lace up my hiking boots.

When I picked the phone back up Macey was saying, "…but come on, Kalyn. I'm serious here. You're not messing with me, are you?"

"Why would I mess with you?" I asked. Before she could even answer I sighed. "Okay, fine. But this time it's for real. I accidentally hit a guy with my mom's car in the middle of the night last night after work."

Macey's silence in response told me enough. I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt and then walked across my bedroom to grab my sketchbook from where it sat on my desk. Then I grabbed a couple of mechanical pencils, my half-finished big white eraser, and my wallet. I was halfway out of the door to my room when I doubled back to grab my black snapback and pull it on; and at long last I managed to turn off the light and get out of my room.

"Anyway," said Macey in a very subtle transition, "what are you wearing tomorrow, do you know yet?"

Tomorrow would be Monday, and the first day back at school after Winter Break. "Probably skinny jeans," I reported. "Given that our dumb school won't let us wear leggings." I'd gotten detention for it last semester. Leggings were super comfortable and easier to move around in than sweatpants, but apparently they were "too suggestive" for our dress code.

Macey snorted. "Yeah, I'd wear them if I could, too." She sighed. I heard someone say something from her end of the line. "Gotta go," she said a second later. "My dad wants me to do chores. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See ya," I said, already hanging up.

I had barely reached the foot of the staircase. I paused there to listen, and try to figure out where my mom was; I was supposed to check in with her before taking off with her car again. (I hadn't told her about running the hottest guy I'd ever seen over, because she believed in me even less than Macey did.) I figured she was probably in the kitchen from the sounds of movement there.

I walked around the banister and wandered over to the kitchen, adjusting my grip on my sketchbook and two pencils as I did. In a few seconds I found my mother rummaging around in the refrigerator. There was a glass jar of mayonnaise out on the Formica-topped counter already. "So I'm gonna head out," I said, remaining at the doorway.

Mom turned around. Her dark curls were pulled back in a ponytail, per usual. "You'll be back in two hours, right?"

"Yes ma'am," I answered.

"Good," said my mother. She nodded at me and then turned to lean back into the refrigerator. "Call me if anything changes, or if you have any problems."

I was already stepping back into the main hallway. "Will do," I said. I turned and managed to take two or three steps before my twin brother appeared from the living room and nearly slammed into me. "Sorry," I said, dodging him, and he mumbled something in response. His black hair was messy and sticking up in odd places, like he'd fallen asleep on the couch.

We didn't say anything else to each other and instead continued on our own ways, ships passing in the night. This was the way Scott and I tended to interact. We really didn't have much in common—we went to the same high school and had the same birthday, but that was it. I liked aliens and cool rocks and Scott liked dogs and parkour. Our after-school activities were totally different, too—I was in the Photography Club and on Yearbook, and Scott was on the lacrosse team. Our lack of a relationship didn't seem to bother him, and it didn't bother me at all. I liked my friends better than him anyway.

I had to stop by the coat closet to dig out my winter coat; then, on my way out, I grabbed my mother's car keys from the hook by the door, where we always hung them. In a few seconds I was out in the lovely cold winter air, and I headed over to the driveway, where the sedan was parked.

I hadn't been out here yet today. Out of curiosity I paused by the front bumper to bend down and run my hand along it, checking for dents or scratches, anything that would prove I'd run a dude over the night before. I thought there might have been a tiny dent, but I couldn't be sure it hadn't been there before. Besides, if that guy had managed to dent the bumper, he definitely would have been hurt.

Oh, well. Even if there was no hard proof I at least knew it had happened, and that was all that mattered. And Ava would believe me, I decided. Ava always did.

I climbed into the car and set my sketchbook and pencils, and wallet and phone, aside on the passenger's seat. Soon enough I was backing out of the driveway and pulling out into the road. On my way out of the neighborhood I waved at Mrs. Pat, who, like the trooper she was, was out walking her dog in the cold. She beamed and waved back. She was adorable and always invited me in for tea and told me stories about her grandchildren in Boston.

Sadly I had to take the northern-bound highway this afternoon, which meant I had to deal with some construction traffic. This highway was the one that curved around the outskirts of Beacon Hills and would lead up to the edge of town, where the entrance to the Beacon Hills Preserve was. I loved hiking there and went all the time, whatever the weather. It was also good for sparking my creativity and giving me things to draw, or sketch and later paint.

The world outside seemed to darken slightly as I drew further and further away from Beacon Hills. Beacon Hills was an interesting place—even during the summer it always looked like autumn. Trees were more often dying than not, and there was always a coating of dead crunchy leaves on the forest floors. Of course everything looked particularly gray and dead now due to the season.

I reached the Beacon Hills Preserve about ten minutes later than usual due to the construction traffic; once I hit the entrance I turned down the long, winding path that would lead to the medium-sized parking lot. I slowed down significantly as I drove, half-watching the road and half-glancing out the window. I loved the woods.

There were no other cars in the parking lot with the trailheads. I parked by one of the big boards with pictures of the main trails and headed over to briefly glance over the map, trying to decide where I wanted to go today. After a few seconds of debate I turned on my heel and headed for the somewhat easier trail that would end a little ways out from the waterfall.

I glanced around appreciatively as I walked, and I couldn't resist the temptation to stop a few times and take pictures with my phone for Flickr. I was always hopeful I could get a good enough shot that my follower count would rise, but I was also fairly certain that would only happen if I traveled somewhere like Italy or Germany.

It didn't take too long, all things considered, for me to reach the end of the trail. Once I did I paused to turn and look down at the waterfall, the white water crashing against smooth rocks and steadily carving out the banks of the river. A cold wind ruffled the curly ends of my hair, and I squinted upward to briefly watch the wind rustle what very few dead leaves were left, shriveled and curled, on the branches of nearby trees; they were silhouetted against the gray January sky. I caught a glimpse of the bright cold sun before I turned to walk to my stump.

This particular stump was one of my preferred places to sit and draw. It was grown over with moss and cracked, but it had been there for as long as I could remember. It was a little ways off the path and into the woods, and I had to step over some undergrowth to reach it. Once I did I seated myself and pulled out my phone to set an alarm, and make sure I gave myself enough time to get home. I made sure to remember the traffic in my calculations.

I sat there for a good forty-five minutes or so, working on my latest character design. I loved coming up with characters like they'd be in a manga or an anime, but I sure as heck couldn't write one myself. I just thought about random scenes now and then and drew them. For the record I also did a lot of landscapes, and, as you should have guessed, a lot of mythical creatures. Lately I'd really been into sirens from Greek mythology.

My nose was starting to feel frozen and my fingers were getting hard to move by the time I finally shifted around. When I did I glanced up and over at the waterfall, the top of which I could see through some trees and undergrowth. As I looked at it I realized belatedly that there was rustling coming from somewhere behind me, and it was way more noticeable than usual. That meant there was something unusual doing the rustling.

I couldn't help it. I was about to have to leave anyway to make it home on time, and I was curious. I stood up and flipped my sketchbook shut; then I put it under my arm and turned to scan the nearby trees.

There was, of course, nothing. This seemed to be the theme of my life. Right as I started to turn again, though, I heard it. This time I could sort of pinpoint where it was coming from, and I walked around the old tree stump in order to wander a little further off into the woods. As I went I tried to decide what animal I was about to find. It wasn't going to be a person, since there had been no other cars in the parking lot—

I saw a dark shape out of the corner of my eye and immediately turned.

Then I halted and stared, because there was a man standing yards away. I'd been wrong about the car thing, that was for sure. What the hell was he doing, wandering aimlessly? Which direction had he even come from? Then I realized that not only was this a weirdo in the woods, it was a weirdo I'd encountered before: none other than the _Gatsby_ man.

I noted first that he looked pretty damn fine for having been run over by a car. I did my best to give him a quick once-over. It was easier to make out his features in the broad daylight—that razor-sharp jaw was glorious, and his black leather jacket fit him well. He was definitely the hottest guy I'd ever seen in my sixteen years of life. Did running him over count as a meet cute? Or was it too violent?

"This is private property," said the guy, glowering and interrupting my Lifetime romance thoughts.

I blinked at him. "I hit you with my car."

He looked back at me, face inscrutable, hands jammed into the pockets of his leather jacket. When he didn't say anything, just stared at me, I felt compelled to add, "But I have to say, you look good for having been run over. Sorry about that, by the way. Running you over."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said the man.

Why the heck would he deny that? This was making less and less sense. There was no way I'd imagined the incident at the three-way stop: I'd never seen this guy before in my life, and I knew I 100% would have remembered. There was no way I had hallucinated him then, and there was no way I was hallucinating him now.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. "Look," I said. "I'm glad you don't want to press charges or anything. But cavorting around three-way stops when it's too dark for drivers to see really isn't the best way to spend your time."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the guy repeated. He was starting to look a little annoyed. "And this is private property."

"I've been hiking here for years," I retorted, mostly to be contrary. I didn't hallucinate, dammit. "It's owned by the county." Then, before I could stop myself, I burst, "And I ran you over with my car! At least be a little mad about it!"

He just looked at me.

"I'm not crazy!" I added.

For a moment we just stared at each other. I was sure I was beginning to look crazed; I could feel my eye twitch. Why would this random dude appear out of nowhere _twice_ just to piss me off? Maybe I really was crazy. Maybe Poppy Trent and Angelie Warner had been right all along—

"The county line ends back there," the _Gatsby_ man said, gesturing with one of his hands still in the pocket of his jacket.

"Fine," I said, throwing my free hand in the air. "Fine. You win. This is private property and I made you up. Alright. I'll see you around, probably, since my mental stability is apparently awful, and school certainly won't help." With that I nodded once at him—he actually nodded back—and then turned around and started to march back over the underbrush.

In hindsight that was probably a stupid idea, given that there had been a strange, albeit hot, guy behind me, but nothing happened. I just walked to the hiking trail, where I took a few steps in the direction of the parking lot and the trailheads, and then turned back. As I hadn't turned a corner I should have been able to see the _Gatsby_ man—but he had vanished into the woods. Which should have been difficult, considering the trees were all dead and the bushes were all limp, and there was really nowhere for him to hide.

I stared for a second. Then I rubbed my eyes, and looked again. Nope, still gone.

After a moment I scoffed to myself. Then I turned and resumed wandering back along the trail. Okay, I mused. I trusted myself more than a weirdo that appeared in really odd, random places at odd, random times, which meant for some reason either we kept happening to bump into each other or he was stalking me.

Maybe he _was_ stalking me. I personally thought I was pretty cute and I was a pro at eyeliner. But those weren't good enough reasons to stalk me. I wasn't that interesting of a person, I was just weird; and that certainly wasn't a reason to stalk me, either. If he was stalking weird cute girls he should have been stalking my whole friend group.

Whatever. I'd just have to keep a baseball bat handy by my bed. Or a pair of scissors, or stilettos. Whichever seemed easiest.

Although, I thought fairly, subconsciously glancing back just before I rounded a corner in the trail, I couldn't really say that the guy had seemed creepy. Because he hadn't. Strange, but not creepy. I briefly struggled with finding a good word to describe him in my head. Then I thought about _The Great Gatsby_.

Sad, I decided. He'd just seemed sort of sad.

* * *

 _Welcome, one and all, to this incredibly eventual Derek/OC. There isn't much you need to know; I'm just going to be filling out the world, as in adding characters, backstory, and lore, and at some point we'll go full AU. It'll be great :D Right, and general endgame pairings (outside the Derek/OC, of course) haven't been decided yet! Let me know what you think when we get going :3_

 _I hope y'all enjoyed this first chapter! All of them are pretty long. Ah, and they'll each be named after famous paintings!_

 _Finally, I don't own_ Teen Wolf _! Boy do I wish I did._


	2. Phenomenon

**ISLEWORTH**

* * *

 _CHAPTER TWO_

 _PHENOMENON_

* * *

I was terrible at sleeping; I was always up too late, and the night before school restarted was no different. This time, though, rather than sitting up researching conspiracy theories or mythological creatures, I was up looking at maps of the Beacon Hills Preserve. Because if the _Gatsby_ stalker claimed to own private property adjacent to that particular hiking trail, it must have been marked on a county map.

I was trying to remember which side of the Preserve that trail curved along when I heard movement from my brother's room. Our rooms were connected by a bathroom we shared. Usually he was the good one and went to sleep at decent times; I frowned to myself and hopped down off my bed, then padded over to listen against the bathroom door.

There was a faint sound of movement again, but then nothing. I could have sworn I heard the squeaky step on the stairs, but when I scampered out of my room to check, I didn't see anyone. When I went downstairs for a minute to find the graham crackers everything was still and quiet. I had no choice but to return to my room and resume attempting to read maps.

I determined that my stalker had to be part of the infamous Hale family. Everyone who had been in Beacon Hills for a while knew about them, and I remembered hearing about it on the news when I was ten—I'd been over at Ava Ruiz's house and we'd been playing Nancy Drew PC games, and one of her various older brothers had had the TV on. "Good Lord," he'd said, which had caught both Ava and I's attention. "That's terrible."

"What is?" Ava had asked, after exchanging a surprised and curious glance with me.

Her brother ignored her and continued staring at the TV. We looked, too, and saw the breaking news story, the footage of firemen dousing the flames, and a reporter standing in front of a heap of charred ashes and a half-crumbled house. _HALE HOME BURNED TO THE GROUND_ was written across the bottom of the screen. Everyone said it was an accident.

Eleven people had died in that fire, and two kids made it out alive. When I looked through some old articles on the fire I found out that those two kids had only lived because they'd been at school at the time of the fire. None of the articles named them, but I decided my stalker had to be one of the remaining members of the Hale family.

Okay, I thought fairly, as I leaned back in my desk chair and picked up another graham cracker. Having almost his whole family burned alive in a fire qualified the guy to act strange and run around three-way stops at night and wander aimlessly in the woods, trying to scare unsuspecting hikers. I personally didn't know what I'd do if I lost Ava or Riley, much less every one of my friends, all at the same time. Damn.

This did not, however, excuse his behavior concerning his stalkery actions. As in, denying that I'd run him over, and apparently trying to make me feel insane. And, you know, stalking me. None of that was excused.

It started to lightly rain outside while I did my research and ate half of the box of graham crackers; but later, through that light rain, when I was lying in bed scrolling through Instagram on my phone and checking my notifications, I managed to hear the squeaky step on the stairs again. I froze and listened hard—there was movement from Scott's room, and this time I definitely heard his bathroom door open. The sink switched on.

I considered. From what I could tell Scott had, for some demented reason, gone out in the middle of the night, and had just returned. All I could guess was that his best friend, Stiles Stilinski, had somehow coerced him into doing something stupid. Stiles was one of the best arguments against dating white boys I'd ever met. (The other being my ex, Josh Wilkerson.) Stiles was tall and skinny and dopey and kind of flopped everywhere, and always managed to trip and tangle himself up with his long limbs, and he had the weirdest sense of humor I'd ever encountered. On most occasions, if Scott had done something odd or had broken his curfew or any other rule, you could assume it was Stiles' fault.

Whatever, I decided. If Scott still trusted Stiles' judgment now it was his own damn fault. I gave up on Instagram a little while later and rolled over to go to sleep.

* * *

The following morning I gathered my school supplies—this consisted of my sketchbook and a couple of half-filled notebooks, as well as some pens and pencils and a book on Nibiru—and made sure my eyeliner looked flawless before I headed downstairs. As I went I noted that Scott's bedroom door was open, which meant he had probably already left. Maybe he had an early lacrosse practice or something, who knew?

Nobody was around downstairs. My mother was probably still asleep after her shift last night/this morning. I poured myself a glass of orange juice, found the blueberry Pop-Tarts, and sat down at the kitchen table. From there I could see straight into the living room, where the TV was on a news channel. Mom had probably forgotten to turn it off last night.

I watched with only faint interest. I could barely hear what the reporter was saying anyway. My phone buzzed on the table and I glanced down to check it. I'd gotten a text from one of my best friends, Bethany Torres; she was on her way to pick me up.

When I glanced back up at the TV I grimaced. _Yikes,_ I thought, raising my eyebrows. Now I actually strained to listen but didn't bother standing up. Apparently half of a dead body had been found in the woods last night by some unfortunate—and evidently traumatized—joggers. The reporter asked where in the woods they found the body. "The left side of Beacon Hills Preserve," one of the joggers said.

I froze, and stared. Beacon Hills Preserve? Last night?

For a second I gaped at the TV, and then I kind of laughed in disbelief. Because I'd been in the middle of eating a Pop-Tart this meant I choked like the fool I was, and after a minute of struggling to breathe and fanning myself and hoping my watering eyes didn't screw with my eyeliner, I jumped up and ran over to stand in front of the TV in the living room.

I only managed to catch the last few seconds of the story. "The police are investigating," the reporter was saying, "and there are currently no leads."

Then it shifted into a Windex ad.

I stood there, watching a crow fly into a glass door, and thought about it. I'd been at the Beacon Hills Preserve yesterday afternoon. I'd bumped into a sad weirdo out in the woods yesterday afternoon. Last night a girl had been found in those same woods, torn in half, by some joggers. This led me to the most natural conclusion: was the _Gatsby_ Hale man the woods hacker?

Instantly I thought that didn't make any sense. If he was interested in murdering girls in woods, he would have killed me when I turned around to walk away from him. Instead he'd just vanished into the cold air. Plus, if he was just a serial killer, he could have murdered me at the three-way stop, too.

Oh dear, I realized. Although I truly did not think my stalker was the woods hacker, if the police knew he'd been wandering around in the woods yesterday, they might think he was. Wait a second—if they knew _I'd_ been out in the woods yesterday, they might think I was the woods hacker!

I didn't know how I felt about this. Nobody had ever accused me of murder before. Of course nobody had then, either, but it was an interesting thought. Usually I was the one accusing people of things. Like the government of being untrustworthy, and Mr. Hernandez of poisoning the lemonade in the seventh grade.

My phone started vibrating violently across the room. I turned off the TV and hurried over to grab it—Bethany was calling, which probably meant she was outside in the driveway. I grabbed my bag and put my glass in the sink, made sure I hadn't left any crumbs on the table from choking on a bite of Pop-Tart, and headed out.

The school day proceeded averagely. At lunch I tried to convince Macey, Bethany, and Ava that I'd bumped into a possible murderer the afternoon before, and the only one who believed me was, of course, Ava. This was not at all unusual and at this point I was no longer bothered. At least while Bethany worked on mixing music on her laptop and Macey studiously filled out her calendar for the semester Ava and I were able to discuss theories and ideas.

Teachers passed out new syllabi for this semester, and some of them told us where to find the calendar on the old syllabus. Generally I doodled or read my book during my classes, although in every one we did start a new lesson. I wasn't interested in learning about chemistry or _Dante's Inferno_. I also wasn't interested in all the rumors and gossip I kept overhearing—apparently something had gone down with Vince Tylers and Summer Holliston at the biggest holiday party of the season. The party had been at Jackson Whittemore's house. I hated Jackson Whittemore almost as much as I hated Angelie Warner, so I really didn't care about that.

When I stopped by my locker to grab a binder between my last two periods of the day, I was visited by none other than Stiles Stilinski, my brother's insane best friend. Strangely I was more likely to interact with Stiles than my brother. This was because Stiles tended to seek me out for help with Scott sometimes, and we had a couple of classes together. "Ah," I said, when I closed my locker, turned, and found Stiles leaning against the locker beside mine. "Hey. What's up?"

"Scott lost his inhaler last night," said Stiles, skipping through all formality.

"He—wait. What?"

"He lost his inhaler," Stiles repeated. He glanced around the crowded hallway—I did too, and managed to hear a snatch of conversation about _Pretty Little Liars_ —before moving in a little closer and lowering his voice. "Scott and I went looking for the body in the woods last night, and he somehow managed to—"

I flinched at this news and swatted Stiles' shoulder. "You two did not!"

"Not so loud!" Stiles protested. He quickly looked around the corridor again before turning toward me. "Scott and I went into the woods last night to find the other half of the body," Stiles explained, his voice even lower than before. "And Scott lost his inhaler."

"Oh, and there's lacrosse today," I realized aloud. My brother had a severe case of asthma, and trying to play lacrosse without his inhaler would prove to be one hellish ride for sure. "Is he going to skip practice?"

Stiles shook his head. "We're going to look for his inhaler after it's over."

Ah, so that was why he was telling me. On most occasions Stiles drove Scott and I home after school—this was because Bethany worked at the local radio station, Macey had student training until quite late, and Ava was always busy with some organization. "I'll help," I decided. "Just text me when it's time to go."

Before Stiles could do more than nod and start to turn, I grabbed hold of his shoulder and forcibly turned him back. "And how did you two find out about the body before it was even on the news?" I asked.

"I may or may not have been listening in on my dad's calls," said Stiles.

His father was the sheriff of the Beacon Hills PD. I sighed and dropped my hand from Stiles' shoulder. "So," I surmised, "you decided to convince my brother to go out with you into the woods at midnight and find the other half of a torn-apart body, with no weapons, when the killer might have still been out there."

Stiles eyed me for a second. "…Yes?"

I folded my arms. "If you're the cause of my brother's death one of these days—"

"I know, you'll kill me," Stiles finished. He grinned sheepishly at me and took a step back. "But he won't die. We're all going to become vampires, remember?" I gave him a flat look and Stiles moved backward even further. "I'll text you," Stiles promised. "See you then."

Then he turned and loped off down the hallway.

His reference to vampires had been a joke at my expense. Years ago, when Scott and I had still hung out regularly, I'd decided that none of us would die; we were all going to research and find vampires, become vampires, and live forever. We'd made a blood pact about it in the woods by the river behind Erica's house.

 _Rude,_ I thought, as I started to walk to my last class of the day. I shouldn't have expected anything less from the man-child.

* * *

On most days during the lacrosse season, after school ended I would wait in the art room for practice to end. Occasionally I might go outside and watch practice, but that tended to be when Ava or Bethany was still around. That did not happen often.

And it did not happen today, which meant I was off to the art room.

The art room was gigantic, and it had been undergoing construction for as long as I could remember. A good portion of it was taken up by two-by-fours and leftover drills, covered by a big plastic tarp. The tarp sectioned off the back hallway that led to the prop closet of the theater department. A lot of the time there was no sound in the art room other than my own breathing and my pencil scratching paper, and the tarp fluttering gently under the air vent. Mrs. Henderson, the art teacher, usually had carline duty.

I loved Mrs. Henderson—she always let me sit at any of the desks around the room and do whatever, and she even trusted me with the art supplies and machines now, like the printer and the light board, as long as I made sure I left everything the way it had been before. This afternoon I rummaged around for a box of colored pencils in one of the paint-splattered back cabinets and set them on the side of my chosen desk.

I'd been attempting to draw the mysterious and potentially lethal Hale guy from the woods. I could not manage to get his angular jaw right. I'd also always been particularly bad at drawing folds in clothes; I needed to see his jacket again in order to get that right. And for the record, I was not being creepy. As you should have gathered by now I was obsessed with weird things—like aliens and mermaids. Of course I wanted to draw a mysterious vanishing man who may or may not have been a ghost.

Mrs. Henderson returned to her room after I'd been there for about forty-five minutes. She walked in and we exchanged polite greetings, and then Mrs. Henderson retreated to her desk and I resumed coloring in the landscape of dead woods behind the possible ghost hacker.

About twenty more minutes passed; I double-checked my phone for the time, because I planned to leave the art room to wait by the parking lot when lacrosse practice was supposed to end. Just after I put my phone back down Mrs. Henderson, who had been sorting through watercolor supplies in the back, wandered over to where I was seated.

"Who is that?" Mrs. Henderson asked from behind me.

 _Whoops,_ I thought. "Someone I saw the other day," I said.

"Huh," said Mrs. Henderson. She leaned down to take a closer look at the sketch; then she stood back again and moved, leaning against the desk beside mine with one hand. "You know, he looks familiar," Mrs. Henderson said thoughtfully. "Maybe he was a student of mine at some point."

It took all of my willpower not to scream right there, because if Mrs. Henderson knew this guy, that meant I wasn't crazy. I had not hallucinated him. He was a real, live person—well, maybe—and a member of the Hale family, and I was not insane. Poppy Trent and Angelie Warner were wrong, I wanted to shout to the ceiling. _So wrong!_

Of course that would have made me look insane, so I kept this reaction to myself. "Really?" I said to Mrs. Henderson.

"Yeah," said Mrs. Henderson. She looked completely lost in thought now. "If I think of who it is I'll let you know," she assured me, before flashing a smile at me and walking back over to the watercolors.

I considered briefly, looking back down at my own sketch. Well, at least it was good enough that Mrs. Henderson could recognize the person in it. And I supposed it would make sense if a guy from the Hale family had gone to Beacon Hills High. It was closer to the Beacon Hills Preserve than Briarcliff, and both Abernathy Prep and St. Michael's were stupidly expensive.

Only a short while after I was reassured I was not a loon I packed up my sketchbook and headed out, waving goodbye to Mrs. Henderson on my way. Lacrosse practice should have ended at 5:30, which meant Stiles and Scott should be in the parking lot at least by 5:45. Boys took phenomenally short showers. I was personally fond of baths, and bath bombs, and my showers always lasted at least twenty minutes. What could I say? I had long hair.

There were a couple of lacrosse boys already trickling out into the parking lot by the time I reached the sidewalk. I halted there and turned to watch the entrance to the gym, waiting for Scott or Stiles to appear. I waved at Pietro Conti and Cameron Kane, both of whom I knew through my ex, and answered a text from Riley Tanaka. Riley was my last best friend; she went to a different school but lived in my neighborhood, which was really the only reason we'd managed to stay in contact.

I was texting Riley about her unfortunate encounter with her own ex in the bathroom today when someone else I knew appeared. This time it was Matt Daehler from Photography Club. "Hey, Kalyn," Matt said, making me glance up. He wandered over from where he'd been crossing the dry crunchy lawn and joined me on the sidewalk. "How are you?"

"I'm cold and tired," I said with a shrug. "The usual. How're you?"

Matt shrugged back. "Pretty much the same." He glanced out at the parking lot. "Waiting for Stiles and Scott?"

"You know me," I said a little dryly. "How'd practice go today?"

That made Matt look back at me with a strange amount of seriousness. "It was weird," he said. He glanced around, like he was about to tell me about some sort of conspiracy, before he continued. "No offense or anything, but your brother kicked ass on the field today. Coach put him in the goal and he blocked every shot."

Now that was not the Scott McCall I knew. Not that, I supposed, I really knew him. Even though he'd been practicing in the backyard all winter break with Stiles, from what I'd glimpsed of their practices they hadn't exactly been improving. Stiles and Scott had always kept each other company on the bench at games.

Plus Scott never played goal. He was always in the field himself, if he was ever played. "That," I decided, "is weird." Matt nodded in emphatic agreement. "Huh," I mused aloud. "Maybe he's been practicing more than I thought."

"Well, he's doing something," said Matt. He started to take a step back. "You should ask him what it was and then tell me. Now I really need to up my game."

I laughed and Matt half-grinned back. "I'll do my best."

"See you later, Kalyn," Matt called, already turning and heading off into the parking lot. He raised his hand with his car keys over his shoulder as he did in a casual wave. I called a similar sentiment after him.

This was truly bizarre behavior. Since Mrs. Henderson had reassured me that I was not, in fact, crazed, I knew I could trust my own judgment; and I knew Scott could not play lacrosse. He lacked hand-eye coordination and had never been good at catching or passing the ball, much less blocking every shot as a goalie. _What the hell, Scott?_

Hm. I decided to ask him about it when he and Stiles finally appeared.

This took a rather annoying amount of time. At long last, though, both of them exited the gym together. Brian Hughes and Danny Mahealani were talking to Scott, and from what I could see Stiles looked a little annoyed. Interesting. "Hey, Kalyn!" Stiles called when he spotted me. I waved back and Stiles quickened his pace, passing Scott, Brian, and Danny to reach me first.

When he did he moved in too close for comfort and said in a low voice, "Something's going on with your brother." Then he side-stepped around me and galumphed into the parking lot, playing with his car keys in one hand as he did.

I half-turned to look after him, but then I had to turn back, because Brian, Danny, and Scott were arriving. Well, it was more like Scott; because Brian and Danny were already wandering off in another direction, crossing the sidewalk and stepping down into the parking lot. "See you tomorrow," Scott called after them. Both of them waved back.

Then Scott halted and finally looked at me. "Hey," he said. He reached up to push his hand through his mop of black hair. "So you're gonna help us look for the inhaler?"

"Yeah," I said. Then I folded my arms. "What's this I hear about you being an amazing lacrosse player today?"

Scott brightened. "Yeah, I did great!" he said cheerfully. "I don't know what it was, but I managed to catch everything—Coach put me in the goal! And guess what else?" Before I could even try to guess Scott blurted, "I made first line!"

Now that was a hell of a jump, from bench-warmer to first line. I lightly punched his arm. "Nice," I said appreciatively. "Nicely done, dude. That's awesome."

"Thanks," said Scott with a modest little shrug.

I have to admit, although he was a fool and had an idiot for a best friend, he was adorable. But that did not excuse his thoughtless actions from the night before. "And Stiles said you two went out into the woods last night," I told him. "What in all heck were you thinking?!"

Scott frowned, disposition doing a 180 in .2 seconds. "I don't know," he admitted. "Stiles wanted me to go, so I went." He must have been able to tell that explanation already didn't fly with me, because he added, "Come on, if Ava or someone asked you to go into the woods with them, you'd go, wouldn't you?"

"I would tell them to stay home," I answered, unamused.

"Wait," said Scott, as something seemed to dawn on him. "If that girl was killed last night…didn't you go hiking yesterday?" He glanced back at me. "You didn't happen to see any creepy serial killers, did you?"

I fidgeted with one of the straps of my backpack. "Uh," I hedged, briefly glancing back toward the gym and catching sight of Jackson Whittemore with Tucker Logan, "I didn't think he really looked like a serial killer…a little stalkery, yeah, but—"

Scott yelped like he'd been shot, and both Jackson and Tucker, who were passing by, gave us funny looks. I gave them sharp ones back—I couldn't stand either of them. If Jackson, Tucker, and I were stranded in the ocean and there were three life vests, I'd wear all three. "Kalyn!" Scott exclaimed, recapturing my attention. "What if you met the killer!"

"I hope not," I said, my voice at its normal level. I was pretty sure the Hale guy wasn't the woods hacker. "But he didn't kill me, and I was alone with him for a good few minutes, so—"

Scott groaned and slapped his hand to his forehead. "Kayla," he said almost mournfully, "if you're talking to weird men alone in the woods, how much longer do you think it'll be before you actually _do_ meet a serial killer?"

"I'm not talking to weird men alone in the woods!" I protested. "I sort of knew him anyway!" And there was no way I'd admit our meet cute had been when I'd mowed him down with the sedan.

At least Stiles pulled up to the curb then, in his powder-blue Jeep. Both Scott and I turned toward it. "Seriously, Kayla," Scott said, moving to stand beside me on the sidewalk, "you can't talk to creepy guys hanging out in the woods alone. In fact, don't go into the woods alone at all. Okay?"

"I'm still going to the woods alone," I told him.

Scott gave me a flat look back, but I was already moving forward to swing open the passenger's side door of Stiles' Jeep. There were no back doors, and I wasn't interested in bothering with moving the seat right now, so I crawled in over the passenger's seat and the console, ignoring Stiles' protests. I set my backpack beside me on the backseat and then buckled myself in as Scott climbed into the passenger's seat.

Once we were all buckled in and the door was shut, Stiles headed out of the parking lot. "She might've met the killer in the woods," Scott told Stiles.

"Oh, no I didn't," I said with a gusty sigh.

Stiles twisted around to shoot me a highly alarmed look, and I smiled sweetly back at him. When he turned back around he half-glanced at Scott. "I think your sister's insane."

"Join the club," remarked Scott. Before I could do more than make an annoyed sound, he blurted, "I totally forgot." He turned around in his seat to face me better, brown eyes earnest. "So just being out in the woods last night wasn't the weirdest thing that happened."

I kicked the back of his chair. "Let me guess, you also met the killer?"

"No!" Scott retorted. "When Stiles left me in the woods I was trampled by deer! That's when I dropped my inhaler—and then this giant wolf came out of nowhere and bit me!"

I stared at him for a beat, and he stared back. "A wolf," I repeated slowly.

Scott nodded. "Just like Sisterhood Camp," he said.

For another long moment we looked at each other. I couldn't decide how I felt about today, or this weekend for that matter: odd things were happening, but I was also being proved right in the strangest of ways. It felt a little like my life was coming full circle. "Wait," I realized aloud. "Did you clean out the bite? Have you even seen a doctor? What if you have rabies? Did you tell Mom?!" By the end of my series of questions I was shaking the back of his chair.

"Stop!" Scott exclaimed. I let go of his chair and rested my forehead against the back of his headrest. "It bit my side. And yeah I cleaned it out. And what would I even tell Mom? Or a doctor? I got this while I was out looking for the body of a dead girl in the woods in the middle of the night?"

"Sounds fair enough to me," offered Stiles.

"And I better not have rabies," Scott added as an afterthought.

I leaned back. Scott had faced forward and was adjusting his seatbelt; Stiles was glancing around as we merged onto the northern-bound highway, all congested with rush hour and construction traffic. "That's right you better not," I said to Scott. "You keep Mom sane." Scott half-shrugged, accepting this. "Although," I mused, "I guess rabies wouldn't necessarily mean death…"

"Stop that," Scott protested. "I don't have rabies!"

"Where did the wolf come from?" I wondered. "Is it the same one that was in the woods years ago?"

Scott snorted. "Yeah, I doubt it," he answered. "This wolf would've eaten you, Ava, Riley, and Erica as appetizers, and then had the whole camp as the entrée." I grimaced at the thought and Stiles made a disgusted sound. "What? It was huge!"

"You two are fools," said Stiles, shaking his head. "There haven't been wolves in Beacon Hills for like sixty years."

"Then what bit me?" Scott challenged. "A deer?"

The two of them proceeded to bicker for the rest of the ride to the Beacon Hills Preserve. Due to the traffic this was a while. I occupied myself reclining in the backseat and texting Riley and Ava about Scott's discovery of the wolf in the woods. I was sure both of them would be more than happy to hear that we weren't insane, like everyone else had thought.

If I had Erica's number I would've texted her, too, but we'd lost contact after she moved neighborhoods and to a different middle school. She went to Beacon Hills High with me now, but we didn't have any classes together. We just said hi in the hallways.

When we pulled up to the Preserve and parked, I had to wait for Scott to climb out of the car before I could. This time he moved his chair forward to let me out of the backseat, and I didn't have to clamber over the console, which I'm sure made Stiles happy. In a few seconds all three of us were standing in front of the wooden Beacon Hills Preserve sign. There was a chain across the road that I would usually have followed to the parking lot; it was probably sectioned off because of the murder.

I really hoped it hadn't been the Hale guy.

We set off into the woods together. It was a gorgeous day out, despite the freezing cold weather; the sun was bright overhead, and the gray trees stuck up out of the hard earth at various angles. If I looked hard enough through the trees I thought I could make out one of the camping sites here.

I didn't pay any attention to Scott or Stiles for several minutes. When I finally did, Stiles was saying, "Maybe you were bitten by a radioactive spider."

"Ooh," I said immediately. "Have you been around anything glowing recently?" I asked Scott. He just gave me a look, but he couldn't have been surprised. I loved superheroes and comic books. My personal favorites were Deadpool, Hawkeye, and Wolverine. Man, it would be hella rad if Scott became a superhero.

"Okay, we're not crazy," Stiles said to Scott, half-gesturing toward me. This was the first time anyone other than myself or Ava had claimed such a thing. Stiles glanced at me like he'd heard my thought. "You should've seen him out there," he said. "He was playing like he was a different person."

"Yeah, Matt said that," I mused.

"Look, I don't know what it was," said Scott, "but it was like I had all the time in the world to catch the ball. And that's not the only weird thing. I hear stuff I shouldn't be able to hear, I smell things!"

Stiles and I exchanged glances behind Scott's back. "Smell things?" echoed Stiles. "Like what?"

Scott lifted his head slightly, as if taking a sniff of the wintry air. "Like your frizzy hair curl stuff," said Scott, nodding at me, "and the mint mojito gum in your pocket." He glanced back at Stiles.

I reached up to touch my long thoroughly wavy dark hair. I did use several hair products every morning, in an attempt to prevent frizz. I wasn't sure I was impressed, though. Scott and I shared a bathroom; he always knew I sprayed my hair with that stuff.

Stiles didn't look too impressed either, and he started rummaging around in his pocket. "I don't have any mint mojito…"

A second later he came up with a half-wrapped stick of pastel green gum. Scott somehow managed to give both of us looks before quickening his pace. Stiles and I both walked after him, though I walked at a slower and more contemplative pace. "So," said Stiles, "this all started with a bite."

"What if it's an infection?" Scott asked. "Like my body's flooding with adrenaline before I go into shock or something?"

That was a fair point, I mused. "You know what?" said Stiles. "I actually think I've heard of this. It's a specific kind of infection."

Scott stopped and turned to look at Stiles. I caught up to them and stopped, too, to glance over at Stiles in a combination of skepticism and suspicion. "Are you serious?" asked Scott.

"Yeah," said Stiles, putting his hands on his hips. "Yeah, I think it's called…lycanthropy."

I snorted, and put my hands into the pockets of my jacket. Scott glanced over at me. "He's talking about werewolves," I told him. "And I know you don't believe in those."

"Hey!" Stiles protested. When I glanced at him he was pouting. "That was gonna be so good."

"Jerk," said Scott, shoving Stiles' shoulder. Stiles snickered, and all three of us resumed walking through the woods at once. Scott looked over at me. "Is that seriously how werewolves start, though?" he asked.

I nodded. "With a bite."

Scott furrowed his eyebrows and looked down to watch his feet move. "Yeah," said Stiles, on Scott's other side. "It might be a good idea to be cautious. So if you see me in shop class trying to melt all the silver I can find, it's because Friday's a full moon."

My brother ignored this, and I gave Stiles a good-natured semi-exasperated look. A few seconds later Scott halted again and glanced around. "What now?" I asked.

"I could've sworn this was it," said Scott pensively, looking at the leaf-strewn ground. I turned to start glancing around, too. "I saw the body, the deer came running…and I dropped my inhaler." He bent over to start shifting leaves around. I started to do the same thing, except I only used my scuffed Converse to do so and kept my hands in the pockets of my jacket.

Stiles was entirely unconcerned with Scott's inhaler. "Maybe the killer moved the body," he suggested.

"If he did, I hope he left my inhaler," remarked Scott. "Those things are like eighty bucks."

"You played lacrosse today without it, though, didn't you?" I mused. A second later I half-glanced up and caught sight of someone standing out in the woods with my peripheral vision. I looked back down—the image registered—and my head snapped back up. _Oh shit,_ I thought. It was, once again, the _Gatsby_ Hale man, survivor of unintentional car accidents, possible murderer of girls in woods, and definitely some kind of stalker.

And I was doubly proven right, because Stiles saw him, too. He smacked Scott's shoulder and yanked him to his feet by tugging on his brown hoodie. "Oh God," I blurted in a delayed reaction. Simultaneously I saw both Scott and Stiles look at me in surprise out of the corner of my eye, but I kept my gaze trained on the Hale guy. "Not you again."

"What are you doing out here?" the guy demanded as he approached, totally ignoring me.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. If we were off the path again there was no way I could save this. But wait, I thought hopefully. Maybe he'd pretend we'd never met. I wondered if I should try to avoid looking at him—nope, there was no hope for that. I couldn't help but stare at the dude. He was a formidable figure, at least six feet, and muscular. And, of course, he was devastatingly handsome, so there was that.

"Huh?" prompted the Hale guy, when none of us said anything to him. He stopped several feet away and slid his hands into the pockets of his black leather jacket. "This is private property."

Great, I thought. Apparently the Hale family owned half the property around the Beacon Hills Preserve. For some reason that reminded me that I needed to pay close attention to his shoulders—his jacket, to be more precise, and how it fit, and where the creases were. "Uh, sorry, man," said Stiles from where he stood on Scott's other side. "We didn't know."

The Hale guy finally looked at me. For a second we both stared at each other. I truly had no idea how this guy even existed—his jaw looked like it had been carved by Michelangelo. "She did," he said at long last, nodding at me.

"Oh, so now you admit it," I said. "Did I or did I not run you over in the dead of night that one time?"

He just looked at me.

"I know you can hear me," I said somewhat challengingly. "We've had conversations before. One time after I hit you with my car." Stiles made a sound, both amused and disbelieving, and the Hale guy speared him with such a sudden look of death that he quieted instantly. Then the Hale guy looked back at me, expression inscrutable again. "Well?" I pushed. This time I knew for sure there was no way I was hallucinating and yet I was starting to feel crazed again.

When he didn't say anything, I said, throwing one hand in the air, "You know what? I think you're stalking me."

"Okay," said Stiles loudly, clearly trying to interrupt before I got us all killed.

But neither the Hale guy nor I paid him any attention. "You're the one that keeps showing up wherever I am," the Hale guy pointed out. "I think it's the other way around." I couldn't help it—I shrieked in annoyance and stamped my foot against the ground. The Hale guy very calmly returned his attention to Scott and Stiles, both of whom were gaping at me. "You're trespassing," the Hale guy said to them, and they reluctantly looked back at him.

"Um," said Scott after a second, "sorry. I lost something out here."

"What were you doing out here to begin with?" the Hale guy asked.

"It was a stupid bet," said Stiles. "Sorry, man."

The green-eyed Hale guy looked around at all three of us again, like he was sizing us up. I reached up to briefly rub my temple. After a second of evident deliberation, the Hale guy withdrew Scott's inhaler from his jacket pocket. He tossed it at Scott, who snatched it out of the air with ease.

Then he glanced back at me for a split second before turning around and starting to walk away.

I could not leave it there. I refused. The only people that thought I was insane were Poppy Trent and Angelie Warner—and maybe lowkey my mother—and I would not allow this random hot guy to make me think they were right. "Hey, Mr. Hale," I called, taking a few quick steps after him.

Stiles squeaked something behind me, and Scott said something in a low voice, but I couldn't tell what; and the Hale guy turned back around, eyebrows raised. "Look," I said in a lower voice when I drew closer to him. I stopped a few feet back, giving him wide berth. "I'm not going to question why you were running around a deserted three-way stop or standing out here in the woods, preying on the fears of unwary hikers. I don't care what you do with your evenings." His eyebrows were only rising to new heights. "But you have to know that a murder was committed here really recently. It's probably not safe to be walking around in the woods."

The Hale guy gave me a quick once-over. I straightened up a little as he did and mentally patted myself on the back for my flawless eyeliner today. Then the guy said, "Who are you?"

"Kalyn McCall."

"If it's not safe, why are you out here?" the Hale guy asked next. Then, like he knew I couldn't give him a legitimate answer, he turned around and walked away, crunching leaves underfoot. I looked after him, torn between mildly annoyed and rather pleased that I'd gotten him to say more than five words. Not then, of course, but a few minutes ago. And his butt was A++. _Nice_.

Then I quickly turned back around.

Stiles and Scott were both staring at me openmouthed, a combination of betrayal and disbelief on their faces. "What?" I asked defensively, as I wandered back over to rejoin them. "I knew I wasn't crazy. And neither is Mrs. Henderson."

They both ignored this. "You hit him," said Stiles. "With your car."

"With Mom's car," added Scott.

They stared at me, eyes wide. I fidgeted. There was truly no way out of this that I could see. Unless, I realized, I used the Hale dude's own tactics. I did my best not to smirk and instead feigned innocent curiosity. "What?"

"You said you ran that guy over!" Scott exclaimed, emphatically gesturing.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

This time it was Stiles who let out a shriek of annoyance, as he threw his hands in the air. Scott stared at me for a second longer before turning toward Stiles, who gave me a twitchy-eyed look before also facing Scott. "Dude," Stiles said. "Ignore her." I was too amused with myself to bother protesting. _Oh how the turntables!_ "That was Derek Hale. You remember, right?" He looked somewhat frantically from Scott to me and back again. "He's only like a few years older than us."

 _Derek, huh?_ I thought, glancing back to where he'd been a moment before. I was unsurprised to find that he had, once again, vanished into the woods. Derek was a total hot guy name. It made sense that it was his. Every time I saw him I was further startled by how ridiculously beautiful he was. And a few years wasn't that bad.

"Remember what?" asked Scott obliviously, as I returned my attention to these two fools.

"His family?" prompted Stiles. When Scott just blinked at him, Stiles added, "They all burned to death in a fire like ten years ago."

"Six," I corrected without thinking about it.

Stiles and Scott looked at me again, surprised and freaked out, judging by their facial expressions. "I don't even want to know how you knew that," said Stiles.

"What?" I said, defensive again. "I remembered!"

"You know what, never mind," said Scott. "It doesn't matter. Let's just go, guys, I need to get to work."

"Sure, if your sister stops doing insane things," grumbled Stiles. This sparked an argument that lasted all the way back to the car.

* * *

 _Thanks so much for reading, reviewing, and favoriting, y'all! :D I hope you liked the chapter, and I hope you have a great new year! :)_

 _I don't own_ Teen Wolf _!_


	3. Two Women in the Moor

**ISLEWORTH**

* * *

 _CHAPTER THREE_

 _TWO WOMEN IN THE MOOR_

* * *

As that first week back to school wore on, it became increasingly, fortunately evident that Scott had not contracted rabies. He reported to me once on Wednesday that he felt pretty normal, except for his ability to play lacrosse without his inhaler, his very occasional overhearing of bizarre things, and smelling things he shouldn't have been able to smell. I did some research on these symptoms but all I could come up with were superhero origin stories.

I had French class right before lunch. On Thursday I headed out of Ms. Morrell's room when the bell rang and walked back in the direction of my locker. On my way I spotted the new girl, who had been introduced to us all a couple of days ago; her name had been Allison Argent. She was in my French class, and she was already better at speaking French than I was sure I ever would be. I couldn't phlegm my Rs.

After I turned a couple of hallways I slowed down. Great, I thought sourly. My most recent ex-boyfriend, Ben Goddard, was standing by my locker, apparently waiting for me. _Ugh_. "Hey, Kayla," Ben said as I drew closer.

"Don't call me that," I said breezily. I reached my locker and moved to unlock it as Ben straightened up; I swung open my locker door and blocked him. "And why are you talking to me?" I paused as I reached into my locker to find my Econ book. "Actually, don't answer that."

"Look—" Ben started to say.

"No thanks," I answered. I found my Econ book and leaned back out of my locker. There was only one class between lunch and afternoon homeroom, so I closed my locker door and turned toward Ben. "The time for talking has long passed, my dude."

"How many times do I have to apologize?" asked Ben. I walked past him and he turned to walk alongside me, annoyingly. "Would you please just hear me out?"

"Shut up," I said flatly.

It was just then that a terrible coincidence occurred: as Ben and I continued down the hallway, in the direction of the cafeteria, Angelie Warner appeared from around another corner to enter the corridor.

This was actually the first time I'd seen Angelie in weeks. I narrowed my eyes upon sighting her. She was walking with, of all people, the new girl. "Great," I heard Ben mutter.

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt and turned toward him. "Goodbye, Benjamin."

Ben seemed to consider trying to say something else, but his eyes flicked back over toward Angelie, and he thought better of it. He just nodded regretfully at me and turned to resume walking down the hallway. I waited a few seconds, so he could stay out of range; except when he passed Angelie she glanced at him, and then glanced toward me.

We glowered at each other for a second. Then Angelie said something inaudible to the new girl, and both of them walked over to stand in front of me. When Angelie arrived she gave me a quick once-over. "Well," said Angelie. "Don't you look…brave."

At least Allison Argent didn't have a history rife with unfortunate experiences with me. "I like your shoes," she offered tentatively.

"I wouldn't engage," Angelie said immediately, turning back toward Allison. "I hear crazy is catching."

"Oh, _please_ ," I said loudly. Angelie looked at me, raising her perfectly-shaped eyebrows. I stared at her for a second. If I engaged in a battle of wits with her I'd inevitably fail, and somehow whenever we argued I ended up with detention. So instead of saying anything I just glared at Angelie and turned to take a step around both her and Allison. On my way, though, I said to Allison, "Keep an eye on her. Don't leave anything you care about with her. She'll take it."

At least that let me have the last word, because I quickened my pace, and before Angelie or Allison could say anything I was down the hall and halfway to the cafeteria. Man, if I would let Jackson Whittemore and Tucker Logan die painful drowning deaths, I'd drown Angelie myself. But don't quote me on that.

That afternoon, as Mrs. Henderson had an after-school art class to attend to, I had no choice but to head outside to the bleachers to watch lacrosse practice. Ava sat with me for roughly forty-five minutes while waiting between extracurricular meetings. "Lacrosse is so weird," said Ava presently as she leaned forward, skinny arms around her knees. She'd propped her feet up on the bleacher in front of us. "Who came up with it?"

I shrugged. "No clue."

"Probably the same person who came up with hockey," Ava mused. One of her various older brothers played hockey. "I hope whoever it was took anger management." I snickered. "Oh—hey," Ava suddenly said, glancing to our left. I turned to see where she was looking just as Ava lifted her hand to wave and beckon someone over.

In a few seconds I realized who she was looking at and grimaced. Of course it was Allison Argent approaching, with Lydia Martin in tow.

Allison was the only one I was concerned about, with that rather wretched introduction from Angelie this morning. Lydia I'd known forever, because everyone knew Lydia—she threw parties all the time and she was our class rep on Student Council.

"How do you know her?" I asked Ava in a low voice, referring to Allison.

"Front office," Ava replied cheerfully. She volunteered there regularly and had since the beginning of this year. Ava turned to flash a smile at Allison and Lydia. "Hey! How are you two on this horribly cold afternoon?"

Allison laughed a little and sat down beside Ava. "I'm okay," she said.

"Could be better," said Lydia, somehow both arrogantly and with condescension. She tossed her strawberry-blonde curls before turning and seating herself beside Allison.

I wondered if I should say something to either of them. I'd waved when they'd walked over. I wasn't very good at figuring out social conventions, which was why I liked having Ava with me in such situations. Bethany and Macey were both as bad as me and Riley didn't care.

Allison solved my problem. "I'm sorry, I'm new here," she said, leaning forward a little to look around Ava and find me. "Who are you?"

"This is Kalyn McCall," said Ava. "She's into _X-Files_ and unicorns. And artsy stuff."

I smiled at Allison and waved again. Allison nodded back at me somewhat shyly, smiling a little herself and showing off dimples. At least she didn't look like she believed Angelie and thought I was a demon. "Are you related to Scott?"

"Yep," I said. Interesting that a pretty girl knew my idiot brother. "He's my twin."

"Oh, there's Jackson!" said Lydia quite suddenly, grabbing Allison's arm and recapturing her attention. She was pointing out at the lacrosse field. Ava and I exchanged momentary glances of mild amusement before we both turned to look out at the field, too.

We proceeded to discover that Lydia was apparently obsessed with her boyfriend; she wouldn't stop talking about him. Her boyfriend was, most unfortunately, Jackson Whittemore. I wondered how bad it would be if I told Lydia she could do seven thousand times better. Because she totally could, she was gorgeous and generally polite, and Jackson was an ass.

After a little while I dug my sketchbook out of my backpack and flipped to a new page, to start working on something with a river and trees and a mountain. I listened to the conversation Ava started with Allison for most of the forty-five minutes that Ava was out there with me.

Allison had moved to Beacon Hills from San Francisco. Her family moved around a lot, and her father sold firearms to law enforcement. That was unusual for sure; I figured, though, that the police did have to get their guns from somewhere. I wondered how the heck Allison's father had managed to get into such a business. Surely it wasn't big.

During the conversation Allison also mentioned several other random facts about her life. (Ava had a tendency to get people's life stories. She had a trustworthy face.) Allison had no siblings and no pets, and the only hobby she'd really stuck with was archery. She was truly quite unique, I noted, which probably worked in her favor as the new girl. People around here were always dying for someone new to come along, and would have liked it even more if the new person was cool and did weird things. It probably also helped that her family summered in Lyon.

Ava, of course, hit it off with her immediately, as Ava tended to do with everyone she ever met. Ava's family, like Allison's, also went on expensive trips to Europe during breaks, but this was the only thing the two of them had in common. Ava had, as I'm sure I've mentioned before, about seventeen older brothers, as well as two dogs, and she did everything under the sun. Her ultimate goal was to be a lawyer.

When her forty-five minutes ended she left for her second after-school meeting. "I'll text you," she told me as she headed down the bleachers. I nodded at her, and she turned back toward Allison and Lydia to wave and smile brightly. "See you later!"

Allison and Lydia echoed similar sentiments back, and I waved. In a few seconds her glossy dark hair had disappeared around the corner of the bleachers. Once she was gone both Allison and Lydia scooted closer to me. I have to admit that, out of habit, I shifted ever so slightly away, because I hated having people look down at my sketchbook over my shoulder while I was drawing. At least it was just a landscape and not Derek Hale though.

Sadly Allison did not know me well enough to understand this. She leaned over to look down at my sketchbook. "That's really good," she said encouragingly. "I used to draw some."

"Oh, nice," I said, pleasantly surprised.

"Never anything that good though," Allison added. Annoyingly, she moved to look even closer at the drawing, and I did my best to be polite and not lean away. "You're like really good."

I grinned, flattered, and shrugged a little. "Thanks," I said. "I do landscapes a lot."

"I can tell," said Allison. She finally straightened back up, which was a true relief. "I really only ever did still life. I tried people and animals but that was just horrifying." She laughed.

It was no wonder Lydia, who was truly the most popular sophomore in the school, had picked her up; Allison was really easy to like. "I'm not any good at animals either," I agreed. "I've done more practice with people."

"Kalyn," said Lydia quite suddenly. Both Allison and I turned to look back at Lydia, Allison with a bit of a start. Lydia had leaned forward to look over at me. "Are you or any of your friends coming to my party tomorrow?"

She was probably actually asking about Ava. "No idea," I said. I didn't add that there was no chance for Bethany or Macey—Bethany had no interest in parties and Macey disapproved.

"Are you coming?" Lydia asked.

That was direct. "Maybe," I said fairly. I didn't mind parties. I never drank alcohol for reasons I shall not presently disclose, but I liked talking to people in such settings. I have to say that people were most inclined to listen to me talk about conspiracy theories when they were half-drunk. I'd had some great conversations with Jenn Parker from Photography Club about the moon landing and dinosaurs.

Lydia seemed to take this as a no. "Alright then," she said, all airy again. She sat back and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I suppose you don't really have to come."

I almost laughed. Like she actually cared if I was there. "I'm going with Scott," Allison offered.

For a second this didn't actually register. When it did I glanced toward Allison in surprise. My brother was a nice guy, truly, generally gentlemanly and compassionate, and he was conventionally attractive and at least sort of symmetrical. Plus he worked with cute animals and wanted to be a vet. I had no idea why it had taken him this long to get a date with someone.

On the other hand—back when we had begun to part ways—I'd started dating in middle school. I didn't count middle school as actual dating though. Even just counting high school, though, I'd gone out with three guys already. Ben Goddard, of course, being the latest, and Josh Wilkerson being the one white boy.

Honestly I didn't even know how I'd managed to date anyone. I was a fuckin' weirdo. "So are you two going out?" I asked Allison.

"It's just one date," said Allison with a somewhat nervous little laugh. She tucked a dark curl behind her ear. "I was just saying we were going to be at the party."

"Everyone's going to be at the party," Lydia put in. "You should go."

I raised my eyes to the sky for a second. This afternoon had turned into some twisted version of my life, an alternate universe in which Lydia Martin wanted me to go to a party and my brother had scored a date with a hot girl. I thought about today in the context of the rest of the week and Derek Hale and decided that I had completely lost it or my life had taken a very weird turn. Whether that was for better or worse had yet, of course, to be seen.

At least neither Lydia nor Allison pressed the party issue anymore. I texted Ava, Bethany, and Macey about it in the group chat.

 **KALYN:** ANYONE GOING TO LYDIA'S PARTY TOMORROW?

 **BETHANY:** HELL NO

That was to be expected.

 **MACEY:** 2NDED

That too.

 **AVA:** PROBABLY. WANT TO GO FOR LIKE 1 HOUR?

 **AVA:** I VOLUNTEER ON SAT

 **KALYN:** YAH LIKE AN HOUR SOUNDS GOOD TO ME

 **BETHANY:** KALYN, MAKE SURE SHE DOESN'T DRINK

 **AVA:** U KNOW UR STILL IN THE GROUP CHAT

I snickered at that.

Lacrosse practice ended soon. I said goodbye politely to Allison and Lydia, and as Lydia flounced down off the bleachers she called back, "See you tomorrow!" I could only laugh at that, because her confidence was through the roof, and Allison shot me a semi-apologetic look over her shoulder as she followed the redhead.

For a few minutes I remained on the bleachers, putting my sketchbook away and answering a couple more texts from the group chat. When this was done I left the bleachers to go down and wait on the sidewalk in front of the gym. A few jocks were already wandering out, and I said hi to the ones I knew. Except Ben, who I just watched suspiciously.

Soon enough Scott and Stiles emerged from the gym. I considered asking Scott about Allison, but he and Stiles were immersed in a conversation, and I didn't want to break it up. Besides—I didn't even know what I would say to him. Congratulations? I don't know. Anything I said about it would have felt weird, so I didn't say anything at all.

* * *

On Friday afternoon quite a few people went home before the scrimmage, because there was an awkward couple of hours between the end of the school day and the start of the game. However I had no interest in catching a ride home, only to stay there for maybe an hour before leaving again. I just wore my intended party wear to school—well, except for my leggings, because I wasn't allowed to wear those. I brought them with me to change into later.

I headed to the art room to occupy myself after last period. Unfortunately when I reached it, the door was closed and locked, and the lights were off. I halted, frowned at the door for a second, and then heaved a sigh. I turned around and wandered back up the hallway. As I did I decided to hang out in the library and read. I was on to a new book and a new theory now, this time one about Lemuria. (I had a thing for phantom islands.)

In the back of the library I read for about an hour and a half. Then I took out my sketchbook, because I wanted to do something with my hands. I flicked through until I reached my sketch of Derek Hale. I was starting to think the folds in his jacket looked pretty decent.

About ten or fifteen minutes after I resumed working on the sketch, someone approached me. It was the school counselor and my French teacher, Ms. Morrell. "Kalyn?" she said. I glanced up and found her walking around the corner of the last bookshelf. "What are you doing?"

"Hi, Ms. Morrell," I said with a polite smile and a little wave. "I'm just waiting for the lacrosse game."

Ms. Morrell took a few steps closer, folding her arms, and peered down curiously at my open sketchbook. I fought the urge to flip it shut. "Why aren't you in the cafeteria?" Ms. Morrell asked me somewhat pensively.

Late Stay was in the cafeteria. If I went to Late Stay my mom had to pay an extra fee to the school. "I lost track of the time," I fibbed.

Instead of bothering to further pursue that topic Ms. Morrell narrowed her eyes at my sketchbook. I fidgeted. "Do you know him?" Ms. Morrell asked, nodding at the drawing. Her face was inscrutable.

Of course she was referring to Derek Hale. This confirmed that he had gone to Beacon Hills High. He must have, if two teachers recognized him. I glanced down at my drawing. I was sort of finished with it, though admittedly I still wasn't totally sure about the folds in his sleeves.

And I wasn't totally sure how to respond to the question, either. "Do you?" I decided to ask Ms. Morrell, looking back up at her.

"Yes," said Ms. Morrell, slowly and thoughtfully. "At least, I did." Then her eyes flicked back to meet mine. "And you have yet to answer the question, Kalyn."

"I don't really know him," I half-explained. I shifted uncomfortably under her intense gaze. Ms. Morrell may have looked young and acted polite, but she was intimidating. "I've just met him a few times." And I'd run him down with my mom's car one of those times. Did that count as a particularly bonding experience?

"Interesting," Ms. Morrell said. She started to turn away, but then looked back for a moment. "Oh—and Kalyn? I'd be careful if I were you."

The way she said this was oddly foreboding. She clearly knew something but for some reason didn't want to say it. I thought about the woods hacker and the idea that it could have been Derek Hale, and I felt the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "Okay," I agreed. "Uh, thanks." _Not._ Now I was freaked out.

Ms. Morrell nodded sagely at me before turning around and walking away, back up alongside the rows of bookshelves. I looked at where she'd been standing for a second. Then I glanced back down at my sketchbook, and Derek Hale's _Gatsby_ green eyes staring back at me from the page. After another second I flipped over to the new landscape sketch.

Soon enough Ava texted me, letting me know that she was in the bleachers. This meant the scrimmage would start soon. I put away my things and finally left the library, nodding at the librarian sorting through returned books as I went.

There were a lot of people filling the bleachers by the time I reached them, and the sky was dark and already midnight-colored. The full moon was rising. When I looked up at it, Stiles' comment from earlier that week occurred to me, about lycanthropy and melting down silver in shop class. I wondered if silver actually worked against werewolves.

Then I turned to try and find Ava in the bleachers. I spotted her up at the top, in her bright green pea coat. She was chatting with Carly Lindbergh, a cheerleader with a sprained wrist. I smirked to myself as I picked my way through people to reach her. Bethany totally wished she was here, I thought. She had a crush on Carly.

"Kalyn!" cried Ava happily upon sighting me. She jumped up and gave me a quick hug, as she was apt to do. "Who do you think is going to win?"

I turned back toward the field, swinging off my backpack to set it down at my feet as I did. I was at the corner of the bleachers, between Ava and the metal railings. "No offense, Kalyn, but I think it's going to be Jackson's team," Carly offered before I could reply.

"No offense taken, trust me," I answered as I squinted out at the field. "I truly don't even know how Scott's gotten good."

Carly laughed, and I grinned over at her. We talked about lacrosse for a few more minutes before she excused herself to rejoin her other friends further down the bleachers. When she was gone Ava sighed. "Bethany is a fool for skipping this," she remarked to me. I hummed in agreement. "And what _has_ your brother been doing?"

I hadn't gotten much of a chance to continue updating Ava on Scott's weird life. She was always busy, and when she wasn't, I was. Or there were other people I didn't trust hanging around. "You're gonna want to sit down for this," I told her. Ava frowned at me and sat down. I leaned in a little and lowered my voice. "I think he might be turning into a creature of the night. Or a superhero."

"What?" said Ava, leaning back and scrunching her face up in confusion. "Why?"

I proceeded to explain, in detail, the strange symptoms that had been plaguing my brother all week. I'd already told Ava about the wolf and Derek Hale. "Wait a minute," said Ava, while I was in the middle of telling her about these oddities. "That girl they found in the woods was torn apart. Do you think a wolf ate the other half of her body?"

I shuddered at the thought. "Nasty."

"Do wolves eat human flesh?" Ava wondered aloud. She whipped out her phone. "I'm going to Google it. Do wolves eat people…" For a second she studied her phone, and the light from her screen illuminated her determined expression. Then she glanced up and held her phone out toward me.

She'd found a question about it on Yahoo! Answers. I scrolled down to read the responses. It seemed to be a consensus that wolves preferred to stay far away from humans, unless the humans were already dead. "What if the girl's been dead for a while?" I asked, looking back up at Ava.

"Fair question," Ava agreed. She took her phone back and clicked it off, afterwards sliding it back into her coat pocket. "But that wouldn't explain why a wolf attacked your brother."

I groaned and leaned forward, putting my hands to my temples. "Why is this so hard to figure out?" I whined.

Ava sympathetically patted my back. "Nothing is easy, my friend."

"Too true. Too true."

"But," Ava added, as I drew in a breath and sat back up, "all of these things point to one conclusion." I raised my eyebrows at her. "Your brother is turning into a werewolf."

That was what I loved about Ava. She'd never seen a wolf in Beacon Hills. She hadn't seen the bronze-colored eyes in the undergrowth at Sisterhood Camp, and she'd never encountered Derek Hale. But she believed me without a shadow of a doubt, every single time. "What do we even do about that?" I asked her.

Ava considered. "I have no idea." Before I could say anything, Ava continued, "But we might want to keep an eye on him at Lydia's party. Just to make sure he doesn't wander off and maul someone." When I gave her a somewhat indignant look Ava said, "What? We don't know what werewolves like to do."

I had to admit this was true. I'd never met a werewolf. In human form, anyway. I thought about Erica and wished I'd managed to stay in contact with her, even though we hadn't had much in common anymore. "But," Ava said, recapturing my attention, "I want to know more about this Derek Hale guy." She nudged my knee with hers. "Do you think he's the killer?"

"No," I said without thinking about it. Ava raised her eyebrows at me, half-smirking, and I gave her a look in response. "Not just because he's hot. I don't know, it's kind of a gut feeling." He didn't seem lethal to me. Maybe angry and definitely sad, but nothing about him said 'serial killer.' "Plus," I added, "I've been alone with him twice, and he didn't try to kill me either time."

"Yeah," Ava agreed. "If I wanted to kill a girl, I definitely would have decided to kill you after you hit me with your car." I laughed despite myself. "I can't believe he wasn't injured."

"And he didn't let me call the police," I added.

"Interesting," mused Ava. For a second we both looked out at the scrimmage currently happening, which we'd barely paid attention to the whole time. "If he is part of the Hale family," Ava said after a minute, "it might make sense that he wouldn't want to interact with the police. They barely investigated the fire his whole family died in."

I thought about it. It was possible he had a strong aversion to police in general. Most of my friends did, but that made immediate sense to me, because none of my friends were white. Derek Hale was a formidably large white male. He had no reason to fear the police, or have any kind of aversion to them. Unless he'd had an unfortunate previous encounter.

Nothing about Derek Hale made any sense to me, and the more I thought about him the more mysterious he got. Why did he wander around strange places at midnight? Why was he even back in Beacon Hills? His whole family had died here. What could possibly make him want to return?

Unless, I realized, he'd only returned to visit his family's graves. Maybe he did that regularly, and I'd just never bumped into him before.

I leaned against the railing to my left and sighed. Ava glanced over at me with some amusement. "I don't know what's going on with him either," she said. Then she looked down to concentrate on tugging at her black gloves, to try and make them fit better. "And I don't know about you, but I want to find out."

"Hell yeah," I said instantly. I straightened up and turned toward Ava, who also turned toward me at the same time. "Is this a case for—?"

"KARE?" said Ava mischievously. She grinned at me, showing off one of her sharp incisors. "You tell me."

I held out my right hand, and Ava held out hers. Both of us then performed the secret handshake we'd invented back when we were little. It was long and a little convoluted, but we still had it perfectly memorized.

KARE was the detective team that we'd formed way back when. The name had come from our first names. The K was obviously for Kalyn; the A was for Ava; the R was for Riley; and the E was for Erica. The four of us had, for some reason or another, found out about various mysteries in our neighborhoods. Our neighborhoods had been so close that we could bike or skateboard or walk to each other's houses.

We'd solved a lot of mysteries back then, and we'd studied Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys, and the Wakefield twins. Of course the mysteries we'd solved had all been regular silly ones, like missing dog bowls and missing dogs themselves. The most serious one we'd solved had been the mystery of who had sabotaged the Riverwalk bike race. Suffice to say we'd never had a mystery as important as a murder before. And I sure as heck wanted to solve it.

We spent the rest of the scrimmage discussing possible theories and ideas as to how we could go about solving the case. Ava, as I'm sure I've mentioned, wanted to be a lawyer, and she knew a lot of strange random facts about law, and previous court cases. Her mother was a judge and had given her a lot of advice.

I, on the other hand, had no experience with the law, except for a few unfortunate run-ins. There was one in particular I didn't like to think about, but that wasn't because of the law enforcement involved, it was because of what had happened. Whatever—I wasn't about to dwell on it then.

Regardless, while Ava offered levelheaded, logical ideas, I came up with quite a few random ones. I had a tendency to blurt out anything and everything in a brainstorming session. Many of my ideas were impossible, but hey, at least I was trying.

We only caught the last few minutes of the scrimmage, which was interesting. Although Scott really was phenomenal at this point—and I could not, for the life of me, figure out how he had gotten that good—Jackson had always been better. Scott scored some points even in the last couple of minutes, but his movements were sporadic, like he didn't even know what he was doing. Jackson was steady and calculating from what I could tell.

When the scrimmage ended, the audience moved en masse out of the bleachers and toward the parking lot. Ava and I waited for a few minutes, remaining at the back of the bleachers, to let everyone else leave first. "Do you want to go to Waffle House first, by the way?" Ava asked, as I texted my mother back about what time I'd be home. "Do you remember what kind of food Lydia's parties usually have?"

"It'll probably just be finger foods," I replied, putting my phone away.

Ava nodded. "We're going to Waffle House," she decided. Then she stood up and tossed her long black hair over her shoulder. She'd straightened it for this evening. "You ready to go?"

Together we walked down the bleachers and around them, and back in the direction of the parking lot. Although we had waited for some people to leave before we left ourselves, everyone was still wandering around, and both Ava and I kept seeing people we knew. She knew quite a few more people than me, but I did manage to see a few upperclassmen from Yearbook and a couple of sophomores from Photography Club.

I eventually made it to the front of the gym, by the parking lot and the sidewalk, where I found Matt Daehler talking to Ray Carter. Matt was, obviously, on the lacrosse team, and so was Ray. Macey knew him from AP classes. "Hey, you two," I said as I reached them.

"Hey, Kalyn," said Matt.

"Sup?" said Ray.

I opened my mouth to start a conversation—it was either going to be about the weather or the scrimmage, maybe chemistry class, I never knew until I was actually speaking—but just as I did, my brother's idiot friend appeared out of nowhere to grab my arm. "Uh, bye," I called to Matt and Ray as Stiles fairly dragged me away. Both Matt and Ray watched, perplexed, tilting their heads to the same side, and they waved goodbye at the same time.

Stiles was pulling me toward the parking lot. "Stiles?" I said with false politeness. "What the hell are you doing?"

He let go of me and then turned me to face him, his hand on my shoulder. I brushed his hand off with some distaste. Stiles wasn't looking too good, in all honesty. He was paler than usual and either he'd just jumped out of the shower in the locker rooms or he was still sweaty from the game. "I'm worried," Stiles said in a low voice.

"Me too," I answered, glancing over him.

"No, I'm serious," Stiles snapped back. I was barely able to respond "So am I" before Stiles continued, "Your brother is turning into a werewolf and tonight's the full moon, and his bloodlust will be at its peak. Okay? We need to do something about this."

I blinked at him, startled. If he actually agreed with Ava and I on something—that was it, the world really was ending. I glanced up at the sky overhead for a split second. Was the rapture about to start? I should have gone to church last week. "Ava and I think he's becoming a werewolf too," I said slowly. "What made you think he is?"

"I've been doing research," said Stiles somewhat dismissively. "Google Books and college websites." There was stuff about werewolves on college websites? I wanted to go to that college. "All of his symptoms match up, alright? He has hearing powers and he's super strong, he can smell things, and he's been acting a little off all day today, and it's the full moon—"

"Is he still going to the party?" I asked. "With Allison?"

Stiles nodded silently.

"Damn," I said. I turned to glance out at the parking lot, where students and parents were swarming to their cars. There was already a bit of a back-up. "Well," I said, turning back toward Stiles, "Ava and I were going to the party anyway, and we were planning to—"

Just then the woman in question appeared. Ava, like Derek Hale, had a tendency to pop up out of nowhere. This was probably because she was tiny. She wasn't creepy in the least. Unless she was stalking someone on social media. "Planning to what?" Ava asked.

Stiles jumped, and I glanced toward her. "Go to the party to watch Scott," I reported.

"Good Lord, woman," Stiles protested, rubbing his chest like his heart was about to try and make a break for it. "You certainly know how to scare a man."

"Man is debatable," remarked Ava.

"Anyway, I—hey!"

I snickered and exchanged an amused glance with Ava. "But seriously," Ava added, facing Stiles, "we're going to the party anyway and we're going to watch her brother. What else can we do? We won't know he's a werewolf for sure until a transformation happens."

Stiles pointed up at the sky tiredly. "Trust me," he said, and sighed. "It's gonna happen."

* * *

 _Hey y'all! Thanks so much for reading and favoriting! :D I hope you liked the chapter! I'm having so much fun with these titles haha. And don't worry, Derek's in the next one :)_

 _I don't own_ Teen Wolf _!_


	4. The Night Watch

**ISLEWORTH**

* * *

 _CHAPTER FOUR_

 _THE NIGHT WATCH_

* * *

Ava and I spent about an hour at Waffle House, Googling lycanthropy on our phones and trading information we found. We mutually decided not to trust Wikipedia, but beyond that, it was difficult to find anything we agreed on. I personally liked websites based around mythological creatures—I knew all of them, I browsed them on the daily—but Ava wasn't sure she could trust them. She preferred collegiate websites; but there were hardly any, and the ones that were there only shared information that could be proven.

Long story made slightly shorter: we didn't find much information that could help us, or my brother. We only discovered that Scott would have to transform into a werewolf himself and have some trial runs before we could really know anything.

Usually we both liked arriving at parties fashionably late, but I knew my brother would be there a bit earlier. We left in order to make it to the party about the same time he and Allison likely would. I tried texting him a couple of times—notably our last texting interaction had been last August, when he'd asked where the car keys were—but he didn't answer. Either he was busy with Allison or he was busy morphing into a crazed wolf-man-child.

Lydia threw the best parties in the grade, as upperclassmen on Yearbook liked to tell me. Jackson Whittemore was the only other one who could give her a run for her money, and that was only because his parents were stupidly rich. Lydia, on the other hand, was a generally good hostess, and she always made the rounds herself, chatting with people and offering drinks.

Her house was a large, sprawling affair in one of the wealthier neighborhoods on the edge of town. I'd been there a few times before, but somehow her house still managed to impress me every time. As far as I knew Lydia just lived with her mother; I didn't know what they needed all the extra room for. The aesthetic, probably.

Ava and I parked along the street, a couple of houses back from Lydia's. Then we walked alongside the other cars already there, following the curve of the street toward Lydia's driveway. Even as we walked up more people parked on the other side of the street; and there was a startling amount of people here already.

"Damn," said Ava, glancing around at the other guests. "It might be hard to find Scott in this."

"Not if he's turning into a wolf," I answered. I looked up briefly at the sky overhead. There were wispy clouds floating by now, and the wind was picking up a little. Still the full moon managed to shed an impressive amount of milky light.

Ava and I parted after we headed up the brick steps into the house. She decided to work her way through the living room to see if she could find Scott there, and I took the other half of the first floor, heading for the dining room and the kitchen. In the dining room I found Cara Wilson and Hannah Beckett standing around the punch bowl. "Hey," I said as I wandered over to join them. Both of them were on Yearbook with me.

Cara and Hannah turned toward me and smiled. "Hi, Kalyn," said Cara. Hannah greeted me at the same time. Cara turned to pluck up a plastic cup from the table, and then she poured some of the pink punch into it. "Here you go," Cara said, handing the glass to me.

I accepted it and sniffed it. "What's in it?"

"Vodka," said Hannah matter-of-factly. She turned to hold out her own plastic cup toward Cara, who obligingly poured her some more punch. "But not enough, let me tell you." She took her refilled cup back from Cara and sipped it; then she turned to look around briefly. "Who are you here with tonight?" she asked me.

I glanced back, like I might be able to see Ava over my shoulder. "Ava Ruiz," I supplied. Cara and Hannah nodded. "Anything interesting happen yet?"

"Well, the music sucked until Tucker took over," remarked Cara. She was referring to Tucker Logan, one of my two or three most-hated people in the universe. I must have made some sort of face because Cara and Hannah both snickered. "Come on," Cara said, nudging me with her elbow. "He isn't _that_ bad."

"He's pretty bad, Care," said Hannah. She turned back toward me, blue eyes wide. "But that's not interesting. Caitlin Moody already went upstairs with Michael Sherwood."

I raised my eyebrows. "It's only nine o'clock!"

"It's never too early for Caitlin," said Cara.

I rubbed my temple. I was really quite uninterested in senior class drama. "Well," I said, taking a step back, "I'm trying to find someone, so I'll see you two around." I nodded at both of them. "Don't drink and drive. Or text."

Cara laughed, and Hannah nodded seriously back at me. "See you around, Kalyn," called Cara, as I turned around and walked away. In a couple of seconds there were a few Briarcliff kids between us. I managed to take a quick look around the dining room—no Scott, or Stiles, or Allison—before I turned back to pay attention to where I was going.

On my way into the kitchen I set my untouched plastic cup aside on a little decorative table. I had no interest whatsoever in drinking of any kind. I had learned long ago there wasn't much point in arguing with people, or trying to explain why; instead I usually just accepted the bottle or the glass and dumped it out later, or passed it off to someone else.

The kitchen was crowded with various jocks playing beer pong. I found Matt Daehler leaning against the counter by the sink, drinking punch and watching with faint amusement. "Hey Matt," I said when I arrived. I turned to lean against the marble-topped counter beside him.

Matt glanced over at me. "Hey," he replied. Then he made a show of looking around. "No Stiles to drag you away this time."

"He was having a crisis," I said, waving one hand dismissively. Matt snorted. "Who's winning?"

"Well, not Hughes, that's for sure," said Matt. He was referring to Brian Hughes, a junior on the lacrosse team. Brian already looked remarkably tipsy and, as I watched with increasing skepticism, he missed magnificently and had to chug. "Yeah," Matt said, after we had both watched this happen. "He's a goner."

"Did I miss the start time of this party?" I asked. "I thought Ava and I were here early."

Matt shrugged one shoulder. "Lydia just said after the scrimmage," he replied. "I think half of these people came immediately after it ended."

Speaking of the scrimmage: I needed to find my brother. "Well, I'm gonna get out of here before it gets embarrassing," I told Matt, as Dylan Moreau chugged beer, and his friends cheered him on. "See ya."

Matt echoed a similar sentiment back, and I moved on, slipping out of the kitchen and making it to a fancy sitting room. From what I'd seen nobody I was looking for had been in the kitchen. And, from what I could tell—it was dimly lit in here, and since there were couples making out I tried not to stare and ruin their moods—nobody was here, either.

At long last I reached the back of the house, and the open latticed doors that led to the backyard. There was a pool out there, and what looked like a makeshift dance floor. I hesitated for a second in the doorway and considered going back to try and find Ava in the living room. Instead I walked outside, into the blessedly cool evening air.

It was harder to find people when everyone was jumping around like idiots. I managed to crane my neck and look around for maybe a few seconds before I had to move again, to stay out of peoples' ways. I moved to the side of the dance floor without looking and slammed right into none other than Stiles Stilinski himself. "Hey, watch it!" he started; but when he turned and saw it was me he grinned. "Oh, hey, Kalyn."

"Have you seen Scott?" I asked him, as I looked back out and around.

"Yeah, he's right over there," Stiles replied. I followed his gaze and found my brother dancing with Allison. Awfully close, I noted, folding my arms. I wasn't sure how I felt about this. I knew I didn't know Scott well at all, but in that moment he seemed like—a total stranger. I was quickly realizing I knew nothing about him and we'd shared a bathroom for sixteen years. "He hasn't done anything yet," Stiles said, recapturing my attention.

I turned back toward him. "So what did you find out about lycanthropy? What was the bloodlust thing you mentioned earlier?"

Immediately Stiles turned grave. "His urge to kill should be through the roof right now."

Startled, I turned to look out and find Scott again. He and Allison were still dancing and they looked about as normal as they could look to me. Scott was the nice one, I thought. He was the one who saved spiders and released them outside, the one who picked worms up off the sidewalk when it rained to put them back in the grass. I wasn't nearly as kind.

The more I thought about the entire ordeal the stranger it became. My little brother—by two minutes, but still—was dating a girl and going to parties, and he was first line on the lacrosse team, and apparently he was ready to kill. "Has he done anything weird today?" I finally asked, turning back toward Stiles.

Stiles glanced at me and nodded. "I tried to cancel his date with Allison earlier and he clawed the daylights out of my desk chair."

"Good Lord," I blurted.

"Hang on, he's leaving," said Stiles suddenly. I turned to see where he was looking—Scott was pushing his way through the crowded dance floor.

Stiles and I were close enough to see that Scott did not look good. He paused outside the double-doors and practically swayed on the spot. "Hey, Scott!" I called, immediately heading for him. He seemed pale, and he was covered in a light sheen of sweat. "Scott—"

But I didn't even manage to reach him before he was continuing onward, stumbling into the house and presumably down the main hallway. Stiles and I exchanged alarmed glances before we took off after him. I passed Angelie on my way down the hall and barely resisted my urge to elbow her drink out of her hand. Unfortunately I didn't manage to spot Ava, but I was moving pretty fast.

When Stiles and I reached the front of the house I led the way out, galloping down the brick steps and running into the driveway. I caught a glimpse of the sedan peeling away from the curb. I stopped and drew in a deep breath of the cold night air. "What now?" I asked—but when I looked, Stiles was no longer behind me. He'd been waylaid at the door by a tipsy blonde girl.

However Allison was standing in the middle of the driveway, looking out after the sedan with clear concern. I took a few steps over to join her. "Hey, Allison," I said when I reached her. "You good?"

Allison turned toward me. "Oh, hi," she said, offering me a distracted but polite little smile. She reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "I'm fine. Um, I'm not sure what happened, but I think Scott must be sick or something…"

"Allison?"

The girl in question jumped, startled, but I only turned to find the source of the voice. There stood, several feet away, Derek Hale, the _Gatsby_ man of the woods. I stared for a second. Then I rubbed my eyes, like the image might change—but I certainly hadn't drunk any punch, and I knew I wasn't crazy, so when I looked back he was still standing there. "I'm a friend of Scott's," Derek added.

Interesting. He was, per usual, wearing his black leather jacket, but he was also wearing a strangely friendly expression. This may have been for manipulation purposes. I narrowed my eyes at him and folded my arms. "Interesting to see you here, Derek," I said to him, as Allison, who was between us, twisted around to look after Scott again.

Derek glanced toward me with the faintest of smirks. "Hey, Kalyn."

Dammit, I loved the way he said my name. He took a step closer to Allison; when she turned back Derek said to her, "I'm Derek."

Then he glanced back and forth between Allison and I for a moment. "Do you two need a ride somewhere?" he asked. "I thought I just saw Scott drive off."

"Yeah, he did," muttered Allison, glancing over her shoulder almost reflexively. She looked at Derek, who was now playing with car keys in his hand, and then at me.

I couldn't tell what she was looking for here. I didn't know her well enough to be able to read her expression. I could only assume that she wanted to know if it would be safe to accept a ride, and I had no clue what to tell her.

Allison raised her eyebrows slightly at me, clearly expecting some kind of response. So I shrugged. "He should be safe," I said. "Maybe." I half-glanced at Derek, who was beginning to look genuinely amused. "He may or may not be the woods hacker from the other night."

At that Allison actually snorted. "Really," she said.

Again, I couldn't tell—whether she was amused at my expense, overly skeptical, or just in disbelief. The combination of all three was something I was far too used to experiencing from literally everyone in my life, outside Ava. I ground my teeth together. "I see my reputation precedes me," I said with probably too much salt.

"For the record, I am not the woods hacker," said Derek. Allison and I turned back toward him, me with some reluctance. Derek was actually half-smiling. His beauty was ludicrous. How could he look this majestic just in moonlight? Goddamn. "But I am about to leave, so if either of you do need a ride…"

"A ride would be great, actually," said Allison. I decided she had definitely listened to Angelie at least a little bit. Her amount of distrust of my opinion was way too high for someone I'd spoken to what, twice? "Thanks."

"Kalyn?" asked Derek, looking back at me.

We stared at each other for a second. I considered. If I went with them, what could I do, really, to protect Allison and I, if Derek _was_ the woods hacker and tried to kill us? I decided it might be a better idea not to take him up on it. "I'm good," I said. I nodded politely at him. "Thanks, though, I guess."

"I'll see you around," Derek said, already turning away. I was barely able to say "See ya," before he and Allison were walking off to his car. Which, I realized as I watched them go, my eyes widening, was _a fucking Camaro_ —

I was about to choke on my spit when Stiles ran up to me. "Kalyn!" Stiles yelped, grabbing my arm in a vice-grip. "Did you see that?!"

"Camaros are my one weakness," I said faintly. I watched as the sleek black Camaro pulled away from the curb and started down the street, revving audibly as it went. "Stiles," I said, turning toward my brother's idiot friend and ignoring his tightening grip on my arm, " _you know how I feel about Camaros_."

"You've lost it," Stiles observed. He released my arm and shook his head. "Oh my God, you've lost it." He looked out after the Camaro, too, and he put his hands on his hips. "Is he really that good-looking?"

"It's the car, Stiles!" I exclaimed. This may or may not have been false, because, I mean, Derek Hale was the prettiest guy I'd ever met. But _I loved Camaros_.

Time for a bit of backstory: Scott and I's grandmother, Alicia Delgado, lived a couple of neighborhoods over from ours. In fact she lived in the neighborhood that Erica used to live in. I could skateboard to her house from ours in about ten minutes or so, which really wasn't bad. I loved hanging out with our grandmother—she was super cool for a grandma, and she always had great advice that she would offer without judgment.

But that is not the currently important part. The important part is that, for the past two years, I'd been rebuilding a '68 Camaro in her garage. It used to be my grandfather's until he crashed it, and he'd always said that he would fix it up himself, but he never had. He'd died a few years ago, and my grandma had let me take over the rebuilding. I planned to drive it when I got it together.

All in all, if I were a superhero, my Kryptonite would be Camaros.

"Okay, did you just let Allison get kidnapped because of a car?" Stiles asked me.

I gave him a flat look. "Allison was not kidnapped," I retorted. I did not appreciate the insinuation that I had lost my marbles. "He just offered to give her a ride home, and she accepted."

Stiles glanced at me in surprise. "Wait, really?"

I nodded.

"Well, whatever," Stiles decided, kind of throwing one hand in the air. "I guess if she can't have Scott she can have whoever she wants. I'm gonna go see if Scott went home—you want to come with, or are you waiting for Ava?"

I was mildly annoyed by Stiles' statement about Allison being able to have whoever she wanted. Could Allison Argent really shoot as high as Derek Hale and get him? I mean, she was pretty, but was she that special? I personally thought nobody except someone at famous model status could get him. Like Kate Upton.

Whatever, it didn't matter. It wasn't like I could date him. I glanced back at the house and pulled my cell phone out. "She has her car," I said, even as I started to scroll through recent calls to find Ava's cell number. "I'll come with you."

"Good," said Stiles, and led the way to his Jeep.

* * *

Stiles sped the whole way back to my house. He passed illegally a couple of times, but I didn't protest; the amount of sincere concern written all over Stiles' face was worrying enough in itself. Plus I didn't like the way Scott had looked earlier. And if he was transforming into a werewolf, this was his first night doing so: surely he had no clue what he was doing.

I called Ava a few times, and she didn't answer; I left a message that I'd already left the party with Stiles. I texted her that, too, just in case. I was in the middle of texting Riley when I had to grab my seatbelt and hold on for dear life as Stiles made a precariously fast turn. I opened my mouth to say something but then closed it again.

I quickly texted Riley an update—I'd been texting her about Scott's possible werewolf existence all week—and then put my phone away. Then I thought about it as Stiles ran a stop sign. This was truly wild. Last week my worst problem had been convincing Wesley the bag boy that Zachary Taylor might have actually been poisoned, despite what government-funded scientists had said in '91. Now my twin brother was turning into a supernatural creature. _Damn_.

Stiles pulled into the driveway of our house soon enough, the Jeep's tires screeching slightly as he did. The car tipped alarmingly for a second before settling down beside the crookedly-parked sedan. Stiles jumped out of the car and ran for the house—I hurried after him. My phone started to ring, and when I glanced down for a split second it was Ava, but I declined the call—

The front door was unlocked. "Hey, Scott?" Stiles shouted as he ran in. "You okay, buddy?"

"Scott!" I bellowed, almost tripping into the front hall. "You better not be a fuckin' werewolf!"

Stiles let out a vaguely hysterical high-pitched laugh as we raced up the stairs. He turned and flew down the hallway, reaching Scott's bedroom first and ramming straight into the closed door—"Scott!" Stiles yelled at the door.

I skidded to a stop directly beside him and pounded on the door, too. "Are you in there?" I called.

The door opened just a crack in response. "Hey!" Stiles blurted, pushing his shoulder against the door. "Let us in, we can help!"

"No," came the plaintive response. Then Scott added, "Listen, you gotta find Allison."

"She's fine!" Stiles and I said at the same time. "I saw her get a ride from the party," Stiles continued. "She's—she's totally fine, alright?"

"I think I know who it is!" Scott answered, voice rising.

"Who what is?" I demanded. Now I was getting annoyed. "Scott, just let us in! We want to make sure you're not—deceasing—"

"It was Derek!" interrupted Scott. "Derek Hale's the werewolf, he's the one that bit me and he's the one that killed the girl in the woods!"

I froze. Stiles stopped pushing against the door and turned to give me a look of pure panic that I was certain I was also giving him. "Oh, shit," said Stiles. "Oh, shit, man."

"What?!" Scott shouted.

I shook my head and put my hands to my temples, stepping back from the door. _Don't jump to conclusions,_ I told myself. How would KARE handle this? "How do you know it was Derek Hale?" I called to Scott, as I dropped my hands. "What evidence do you have for that? How do you know it wasn't someone else?"

"I just know, okay?"

"That's not good enough!" I yelled. "Derek drove Allison home from the party!"

There was a split second of silence—and then Scott's door slammed shut. Stiles scrabbled for the knob and tried to let himself in, but it seemed Scott had locked the door. I whirled around and sprinted for my own bedroom, where I hurtled in the door and then to the bathroom—but Scott had locked that door, too, and there was no way to reach him.

I stood back from the bathroom door in my room and drew in a deep breath. I thought about Derek Hale and the torn-apart girl found in the woods. Derek being a werewolf made sense, I thought, and it would explain his tendency to vanish into the wilderness, but why in the world would he have murdered that random girl? He'd had plenty of opportunities to kill me, both during the day and at night, and one of those times was on the same day that girl died, so if he'd been looking for a victim—

It didn't add up at all. I turned and took two running steps back out into the hallway, where Stiles was turning away from Scott's door. "We have to check Allison's house!" Stiles yelled upon sighting me.

The two of us stampeded down the stairs and right back outside. I slammed the front door behind us, and we sprinted to Stiles' Jeep. Stiles flung himself into the front seat and I whipped into the passenger's side; in seconds we were out of the driveway and speeding down the road. "How do you know where she lives?" I asked as I fumbled with my seatbelt.

"Your brother's a stalker!" Stiles replied. "A wolfy stalker!"

"Scott's a werewolf," I said to myself. I reached out to brace one hand against my door as Stiles took a wild turn, skipping a stop sign completely and almost hitting a faded red pickup. "Scott Ivan McCall is a werewolf."

"Yeah, he's a werewolf, and so is Derek Hale!" Stiles answered. "And Derek Hale is murdering people in the woods!"

"That makes no sense," I snapped. "He could've killed me like seven times already and he hasn't." I stopped then, though, refraining from ranting at Stiles, because he was barely paying attention to me as it was—he was too busy focusing on slamming down the gas pedal and reaching Allison's house.

Allison's house was apparently located in a higher-end neighborhood about ten minutes away from mine. Stiles managed to shave five minutes off the time with his speeding.

"We're here," said Stiles, when we pulled up in front of a large stone house with a circular driveway. "Let's go!" He whipped off his seatbelt and hopped out of the car, and I followed suit—in moments we were standing on the front step of Allison's house. Stiles rang the doorbell three times before standing back and waiting impatiently, on the balls of his feet.

I stared at the carved wood of the door and the intricate pattern of the window inset. Nice-ass house for someone whose father sold guns to law enforcement, I thought somewhat wildly. Then I almost laughed at my own train of thought—I stuck my hands in the pockets of my jacket and tried to focus.

The door swung open inward just as Stiles reached for the doorbell again. A stern-faced redheaded woman was standing there. "Uh, hi," said Stiles, dropping his hand and standing back. "Mrs. Argent—um—"

"We're friends of Allison's from school," I said, cutting in before Stiles could ruin it. "I'm Kalyn McCall and this is Stiles Stilinski. We were supposed to be Allison's ride home from a party but she left—we just wanted to stop by and make sure she made it home alright."

I saw Stiles give me an awed and incredulous look out of the corner of my eye, but I ignored him and smiled brightly at Mrs. Argent. Mrs. Argent smiled politely back, and then turned around. "Allison!" she called. "It's for you!"

Allison appeared on a visible balcony above the front hall. She spotted Stiles and I and looked both pleased and confused. "Ah," said Stiles. "Great to see you, Allison!"

I just waved, because now that I knew her opinion of me she bothered me.

"Well, if that's all," said Mrs. Argent, stern again. "It was sweet of you to check up on her. Goodnight."

With that she closed the door.

Immediately I turned around to hurry away to Stiles' Jeep, where I climbed into the passenger's seat as Stiles clambered into the driver's. "Where to now?" Stiles asked. "I mean—we know Allison's okay, but where the hell is Scott?"

"I don't know," I said, shaking my head. "If Scott's already out in the woods trying to kill Derek—"

Stiles sighed and rubbed his head. "We'll never find him," he finished. Then he gave me a determined look. "But we can try."

* * *

We spent the rest of our Friday night looping around the woods of Beacon Hills Preserve and anything else nearby. We went off-course once to go to a 24-hour McDonald's, but other than that, we circled, watched for lone figures wandering the woods, and listened to dubstep.

It wasn't until the sun was up the following morning that we saw Scott. I'd taken to doodling on the backs of receipts that had been in Stiles' glove compartment, and Stiles was banging his hand on the steering wheel along with whatever Skrillex song he'd just started blasting. Stiles narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, turning down the music as he did.

I saw this movement and looked up. "Yup," I said, inordinately relieved. "That's him."

My foolish brother was indeed walking along the side of the road, muddy and shirtless, clutching his left forearm. Stiles slowed the car to a halt; I rolled down the window on my side and leaned out. "Hey," I called. "That's indecent exposure, son."

Scott turned around and smiled, although he looked exhausted. "Thanks for finding me," he said as he walked over to the Jeep. I unbuckled my seatbelt and twisted around to climb into the backseat over the console, as Scott clambered up into the passenger's seat. "Guys," Scott added, pulling his door shut, "I'm really sorry for losing it last night. I don't know what happened, it's—"

"It was the full moon," said Stiles. "We know." He turned to give Scott a bizarre sort of grin. "And you know what, man? That's _pretty freaking awesome!_ "

"So you're really a werewolf?" I asked, leaning forward to poke my head between their seats.

There was a significant silence for a moment. "Yeah," Scott finally said. "Yeah, I'm really a werewolf. I transformed last night."

Once he said it there was no possible doubt. I relaxed into the backseat and moved to lean against the side of the Jeep. I pulled out my phone, intending to text Riley and Ava, but I'd forgotten my phone had died hours ago. And Stiles' phone was an Android, which meant his car charger used a totally different plug than my phone had.

This made me think, though, back to the days of yore at Sisterhood Camp. Erica and I had been right, I thought, a stupid smile starting to spread across my face. We'd been right all along. There had been a werewolf out in those woods and we'd almost encountered it on the full moon. _Take that, Poppy Trent,_ I thought triumphantly. I hoped that wherever she was, she felt uneasy.

We started on our way back to civilization, taking the highway to town. I passed Scott a hoodie Stiles had in the backseat and he pulled it on. "So what else happened last night?" I asked him.

"Well," said Scott, "I ran into the woods to find Derek and Allison. I found Derek's car, but there was no Allison. Out in the woods, after I ran for a little while, Derek found me. We sort of fought for a minute, and then he told me that"—Scott made full use of air quotes—"'the bite was a gift' and I should be grateful to have it."

I snorted. "I hope you asked for the receipt."

Stiles snickered, but Scott twisted around to give me an unamused look. I stared challengingly back. If Derek Hale had confronted me while I was running wild in the woods under the influence of lycanthropy and the full moon and told _me_ the bite was a gift, I probably would've yelled, "Well where's my fucking receipt?!"

Fortunately Scott and I had very little in common, as you should know by now. I'm honestly surprised I haven't gotten myself killed.

Scott turned back around and sighed. Then he continued, "Derek also said we were brothers now. And he didn't hurt Allison, but he pretty much admitted to biting me. That means he was the one that killed that girl!"

I was tempted to say something about Scott's extremely faulty logic, but I kept my mouth shut instead. He was clearly already having a time of it without my commentary. "Anyway, then these people came out of nowhere and shot at us with arrows," Scott said heavily. I raised my eyebrows. "One hit me in the arm, but it healed. Derek said they're called hunters, and they basically just hunt us."

Stiles scoffed. "Great," he said. "So you're basically the hero of a fantasy book and you've got a love interest and villains to prove it."

"And a Yoda mentor," I pointed out.

"And a Yoda mentor!" Stiles exclaimed, smacking his hand on the steering wheel. "God _dangit_ , Scott Ivan! This is _not_ fair!"

I laughed at Stiles' reaction, because it was totally what I'd been thinking. Hey, I realized, frowning approvingly to myself, Scott _could_ be a superhero. He had the powers for it. "You know what actually worries me the most?" Scott piped up, after I'd been considering superhero name possibilities for a few minutes.

Stiles gave Scott a dirty look. "If you say Allison, I'm going to punch you in the head."

"She probably hates me now!" Scott said, shrinking into the door he was closest to.

Stiles released a sigh of disgust. "Well, I doubt that," he told Scott. "But you might want to come up with a pretty amazing apology. Or, you know, you could just—tell her the truth, and revel in the awesomeness of the fact that you're _a freakin' werewolf!_ "

I saw Scott turn his head and knew he was giving Stiles a nasty look. Stiles glanced over at him and grimaced. "Okay, bad idea," he said fairly. Scott turned his head again, leaning against his car door. "Hey," Stiles added, punching Scott's arm. "We'll get through this. Come on. If I have to I'll chain you up myself on full moon nights and feed you live mice." When Scott glanced up Stiles, without looking, said, "I had a boa once. I could do it."

I snorted to myself and leaned back, turning to look out the window, and watch the trees flash by. Werewolves were real, I thought, and couldn't help but smirk. Because if mythical wolf-men could exist, that meant unicorns and mermaids and fairies could be just as real. Sadly I'd never seen any of them, but who knew? Maybe I had and hadn't known.

Stiles dropped us off, of course, at our house. The sedan was gone. "Mom had a morning shift, right?" I said to Scott, once we were both standing on the lawn and looking up at the house in front of us.

"She usually does," Scott replied. He half-glanced at me before shuffling across the dewy lawn, leading the way.

We both headed inside. I went straight to the kitchen to find my box of blueberry Pop-Tarts in the pantry. Once I grabbed it I turned around, closed the pantry door, and walked over to the refrigerator, to find one of my various things of Arizona Tea. (I'd stocked up not too long ago. I was in love with those things.)

With this done I wandered upstairs to my room. Scott was already in his from the sound of it. I considered walking over to say something to him, something reassuring, but I didn't know what I could say. And I was sure he didn't want to hear about the superhero nickname ideas I'd come up with on our way back.

So instead of trying to talk to my brother I walked over to push open the door to my room. When I walked in and turned I found a visitor sprawled out on my bed, fast asleep and snoring lightly. I stared for a second—Riley Tanaka, my aforementioned neighborhood best friend, was here.

I tried not to laugh as I gently closed my door behind myself. She'd left the window half-open, and my room smelled like the outdoors. I walked over to set down my Pop-Tarts and my Arizona Tea on my desk; then I leaned over to find my charger. I plugged my phone in—it was so dead it didn't even beep—and then sat down in my desk chair and turned toward the bed. As I debated waking Riley up I ate a Pop-Tart.

It was not unusual for me to wander into my room and find Riley already there. She also had a tendency to appear in the magnolia tree outside my window at 2 AM, and occasionally I would walk into my room and find her doing homework on the floor, or passed out on my bed. Since we lived so close to each other there were no boundaries anymore. I'd visited her room at odd hours myself.

After I finished a couple of Pop-Tarts and drank half of the thing of Arizona Tea, I went into the bathroom to take a shower, because I felt pretty gross. I was also sure I smelled like Stiles' cologne, because his car smelled like it, and I'd been in his car all night. Smelling like a dude's cologne was always incriminating evidence, and I never even wanted to think about me and Stiles being a thing. _Yikes_.

I blow-dried my hair and made sure my side-bangs looked decently fluffy. Then, because why not, I redid my eye makeup. I decided to leave my hair curly, because the red streak on the right looked pretty good with the curls today; and at long last I wandered out of the bathroom.

Unsurprisingly Riley was still asleep. I snickered to myself, because Riley would sleep through a hurricane, and walked over to throw my towel and dirty clothes into the laundry hamper by my closet. I found a pair of dark skinny jeans, because I had to work later today and I didn't want to have to change out of leggings, and pulled those on.

When I was rooting around in my drawer for a long-sleeved shirt Riley made a noise, and then mumbled something. I glanced over. She wasn't awake, she was just talking in her sleep. I shook my head and wiggled into my chosen shirt. Then I decided Riley had been asleep for long enough and walked over to take her shoulder and shake her.

At first I went for the generic "Riley, wake up," but that didn't work. I tried saying, "Riley, Pokémon are real," and "Green Day is coming to town," but neither of those worked. At long last I stood back, folded my arms, and then shouted, "YOUR BAND IS PLAYING AT RAPTURE!"

Rapture was one of the most popular clubs with a live band around here, and Riley was, of course, in a band. She played the guitar and did back-up vocals. This sentence was what woke her up. Riley blinked open her eyes, focused on the ceiling, and then sat straight up. "Rapture?" she said, straight hair flopping everywhere.

Somehow she looked totally alert. "No, not Rapture," I said, walking over to push her feet aside. I sat down at the end of the bed and Riley moved her feet obligingly, rubbing her eyes as she did. "You weren't waking up."

"Oh," said Riley. She grinned sheepishly. "Oops." Then she leaned over to shove my shoulder. "What the hell is going on with your brother?! Is he actually a werewolf? Are they real?" She gave me a very serious look. One of her eyes was red, most likely from lack of sleep. She never got enough, even though she took naps all the time. " _Tell me!_ "

I turned more toward her and proceeded to explain the night before, and what Stiles and I had learned from my brother. Riley listened with rapt attention. At long last, when I'd gotten through most of the story, Riley reached out very calmly to place her hand on my shoulder. "Kayla," she said seriously, "I hope you know this means I'm rejoining the team."

"Aw yeah!" I exclaimed. I turned more toward her and held out my right hand. "KARE forever."

"KARE forever," Riley repeated back. She flashed a smile at me and held out her own right hand, and we did the complicated detective team handshake we'd all come up with way back when. I would have been surprised Riley remembered it, but she remembered everything.

When the handshake was finished Riley and I nodded at each other. "So you know what this means," Riley said significantly.

"What?"

Riley huffed. "This means we have to meet to work out how to solve the case," she said. "We have to have a team meeting." I hummed in agreement. "And," Riley added, pointing at me, "having Erica with us would be extremely helpful, you know."

I gave her a look. "You know we haven't spoken to each other in years."

"We didn't talk to each other for two years but we're still friends," Riley pointed out. I had to admit this was fair. After the original break-up of KARE, when we'd all split up and gone to different middle schools—except me and Ava—we'd gotten busy and just sort of stopped talking. Riley and I had reconnected through a church thing and then we kept bumping into each other around the neighborhood.

Erica had only transferred to Beacon Hills High about halfway through last year. Nobody was sure why, and I didn't feel like I was close enough to her to ask for that story. She had epilepsy, and I thought something traumatic had gone down in one of her classes at Abernathy Prep involving it. I didn't know what—nobody did.

Except, most likely, her two current best friends. Whenever I saw Erica around school—and, for the record, we always said hi—she tended to be with either Isaac Lahey or Vernon Boyd. Isaac was cute, a little quiet, and he always sat in the back of the classroom. I'd seen him working in the cemetery by the park before. And Boyd was, like the other two, fairly quiet, but he also struck an intimidating figure. He was in ROTC and on the basketball team. I'd never had any classes with him.

I considered. I could try and catch Erica on her own to talk to her about this. I did want to tell her that werewolves existed, and that we hadn't been wrong. I was sure she'd be happy to tell her older sister about that. "You know what?" I decided. "I'll talk to her."

"Oh, good," said Riley, lightly swatting my shoulder. "Yay! I've always dreamed of getting KARE back together again." She sighed happily. "And we're going to solve a real mystery this time. With murder and everything."

Before I could respond to this, I heard my phone start blasting Panic! At the Disco across the room. I turned to hop down off my bed, and Riley followed suit. "I'm outie," said Riley as she padded back over to the window. Her Vans were on the carpet over there. "Keep me updated."

"Will do," I replied, heading over to my desk. In the background I heard Riley push my window open more, and then the rustling of branches outside. Meanwhile I checked the Caller ID on my phone, which had gotten up to 24%. It was, of course, Ava. I answered. "Hello?"

"Yeah, so, you're going to have to explain more to me later," said Ava without taking a breath, "but for now you need to explain leaving the party with Stiles."

I furrowed my eyebrows and leaned over to pick up my half-finished thing of Arizona Tea. "We left to go after Scott," I said before taking a sip. Then I set it back down. "I would've gotten you to leave with us but you weren't answering your phone."

"Channery Kissinger was having a crisis," said Ava dismissively. She knew Channery from the Beta Club. "A meltdown would be more accurate." She paused as I moved to perch on the edge of my desk chair. Riley had already disappeared, and the only sign she'd even been there was my wrinkled galaxy-patterned comforter and the open window. "Uh. I may or may not have told Bethany and Macey that you left with Stiles."

I groaned and leaned forward, bringing my palm to my temple. "Ava," I whined. "Why?"

"I don't know, I panicked!" Ava answered. "And nobody knew where your brother was either." I heaved a sigh. "You might want to call them later."

Great, I thought. Now Bethany and Macey thought I'd—ew, never mind. I didn't even want to finish the thought. "I will," I said. I straightened back up and glanced over at my bed. "But, uh, I didn't sleep at all last night. For a reason that will be explained later, which has literally nothing to do with Stiles." It more had to do with his uncomfortable car, and my werewolf brother.

"Okay, you go," said Ava. "I have to volunteer soon anyway." There was a shuffling sound from her end of the line. "Seriously, sorry about that," Ava added. Her voice was a little further away this time. "I'm sure you'll be able to clear it up in no time."

I wasn't quite so sure, but I told Ava it was fine anyway, and then we both hung up. When that was done I sighed again. Then I walked over to flop onto my bed. From there I leaned over toward my nightstand and adjusted the alarm time—if I went to sleep now I'd get in a few good hours before I had to leave for work.

* * *

 _Hey, y'all! Thanks so much for reading; I hope you enjoyed this chapter :) Sorry for taking so long to update! I'll do my best to update in a timelier manner :3 Hope y'all have a great weekend!_

 _I don't own_ Teen Wolf _!_


	5. The Ambush

**ISLEWORTH**

* * *

 _CHAPTER FIVE_

 _THE AMBUSH_

* * *

That afternoon, after my shift at work—during which I honestly did my best to convince Wesley the bag boy that werewolves existed; but it was difficult to do without outing my brother, and I thought he probably wanted to have control of who knew that information about him—I headed to the main library downtown. I had roughly an hour before I'd have to get the sedan back to the house. I figured this was plenty of time to check out all the books I could possibly find on lycanthropy.

I always loved going to the library. I parked in the big back parking lot and walked up along the gently curving sidewalk toward the automatic doors. When I entered the building I glanced over toward the circulation desk, and I smiled politely and waved a little at the librarian standing there, because I recognized her. She waved back.

Instead of going to the fiction section I went straight upstairs for the reference books. This was my favorite place by far. I'd found plenty of interesting books on various conspiracy theories and historical figures up here. Plus there was a whole section on astronauts and planets—I was a little obsessed with space. What can I say? It's hella rad. Think about it.

I managed to locate a few books on mythical creatures in the back. There weren't any that were just about werewolves. I figured I might be able to order a few on Amazon, or maybe some would be uploaded to Google Books. After triple-checking that I didn't miss anything that might prove useful I turned to head back toward the stairs.

There was another room upstairs, though, one with books that you couldn't check out. The micro-fiche was there, too. I pulled out my phone to check the time. I had maybe twenty minutes. Would that be enough time to go through old newspaper articles about animal attacks in Beacon Hills?

Ugh, probably not. I didn't know how the newspapers were organized here, and I'd never used the micro-fiche myself. I just knew both Macey and Ava had used it before for different projects, and they'd given it good reviews.

Whatever, there wasn't enough time. I decided to come back later, and maybe bring Ava or Riley with me. I was sure they'd be interested in learning more about the history of Beacon Hills, too, especially the history of its animal attacks. If there even was a history of that.

Although—and I admit, I had given this some thought—if Derek Hale was a werewolf, maybe his whole family had been, too. I didn't know how packs worked. Could you be born a werewolf? I didn't know, and Scott certainly didn't know, either. Scott barely knew what he could do and he was a werewolf himself.

I headed back downstairs and, on second thought, dropped by the DVD and VHS section. I was a fan of the old _Doctor Who_ series and wouldn't mind checking out a couple of DVDs. I wandered around and looked for _X-Files_ , too—and I was deliberating over _Murder, She Wrote_ when I realized I'd made a terrible mistake. I should definitely not have gone for the DVDs.

Because when I glanced to my left, I spotted Poppy Trent.

For a second I stared at her, wide-eyed, and then I quickly turned to look back at the DVD. I wondered how fast I could set it down and leave without seeming suspicious or catching her attention. In the hopes of doing neither, I casually put the DVD back, and then straightened up.

"Aha," said Poppy, right as I turned around and went to take a step away. "Look who it is."

I considered ignoring her. Then I sighed, steeled myself, and turned back around to face her. "Hi, Poppy," I said with resignation.

She was not, of course, alone. She always had her rabid guard dog Carmen Sanders with her, and today was no different. Carmen was smirking at me, arms folded, and Poppy already looked positively triumphant. _Bitch_. "Kalyn McCall," said Poppy. "I haven't seen you in ages."

"I wish it had been longer," I said.

As usual she ignored this and continued. She was capable of carrying whole conversations with herself. "I almost didn't recognize you without a tinfoil hat on your head," said Poppy with a wicked grin.

Yup—she, like the majority of everyone I'd ever met, thought I was crazy. But she needed to work on her burns. I loved aliens and the whole concept of them. If I met an alien I'd beg them to take me away. "I'll do better next time," I said sweetly. "Just for you, Poppy."

"Why are we engaging her again?" Carmen asked Poppy.

"Because neither of you can mind your own damn business," I answered for her.

Both Carmen and Poppy glanced back toward me, and I raised my eyebrows at them in a challenge. "You're just such an easy target," Poppy said. "Look at you. Buying into more conspiracy theories, trying to forget about the rest of your pathetic life."

I rolled my eyes. "And what are you doing? Attacking me because you can't bear to face your own problems?"

"You _are_ one of my problems," snapped Poppy.

"That's rough," I said with false sympathy. "But it's nice to know I have such an impact." I started to take a step backward. "Sadly I'll have to leave you two—"

Carmen nodded, eyes briefly flicking down to my work polo. "You probably have to get to work."

"Yeah, and you don't want to be late," added Poppy. "I know your family needs the money."

I stifled a sigh. I was too tired to continue having an endless confrontation with these two jerks. I'd gotten maybe three hours of sleep, my brother was a goddamn werewolf, and two of my friends thought I'd slept with Stiles Stilinski. It was not a good time to mess with me. Don't poke the bear when it's tired. That's just rude. "We're accepting donations," I said flatly. "If you'll excuse me."

Before either of them could say anything else to me I turned around and speed-walked back up the aisle. "Bye, Kalyn," Carmen called after me in a too-loud, fake-cheery voice. "Hope you get your life together."

"She won't," Poppy said audibly to Carmen as I reached the end of the aisle. "Did you see those books?"

I turned the corner and kept walking, refusing to look back at them. I really hated those two. They were one of the various reasons middle school had been a truly hideous time. I despised thinking about middle school; it was best left alone. I'd been trying to repress the memories for years.

At least the librarian was nice to me. "Good afternoon, dear," she said as she scanned the books and the DVDs. "Are you back in school yet?"

"Yep," I said with a sigh. "It's that time of year."

The librarian nodded sympathetically. "My daughter just started back, too," she told me. "Junior year at Abernathy Prep."

 _Yikes,_ I thought, because Abernathy Prep was hell to begin with from what I'd heard, and junior year was supposed to be the hardest. "Ooh," I said, also being sympathetic. I passed her my library card and she scanned it. "That sounds hard."

"Don't I know it," said the librarian. "Plus she's on Student Council this year." I nodded at her, and she handed me my card back; then she opened the cover of the first book to put my receipt in it. "Bring these back in a couple of weeks, as usual," she said, as she pushed the books toward me. "And I see you're back onto mythology," she added. "What happened to Nibiru?"

Oh, God, I thought, because she'd turned patronizing and that was so not making me feel better. "We'll see when it strikes," I said a little darkly. She just smiled and nodded. I hated when people did that. "Have a good day."

"You, too, dear," she said, and I turned and walked away.

All in all it was not the best library experience; but at the same time it was not the worst. The experience that qualified as the worst—well, never mind. Given that it was the worst experience I'd had there I didn't particularly want to relive it. Maybe you'll get that information later.

I headed home the usual way. Construction was finishing up on the highway, and the traffic wasn't bad; it also helped that it was a rather strange hour on a Saturday. Soon enough I made it home, and I carried my books inside and then upstairs. As I went I made sure to hang up the car keys in the front hall. I also yelled that I was back, but nobody answered.

When I was upstairs and in my room and had organized my books, I decided it was time to call Bethany and Macey. Truly I could not let either of them go on thinking such awful thoughts about Stiles and I. (I didn't even like the phrase 'Stiles and I.' Ugh.) So I hopped onto my bed and scooted back until I was leaning against the wall, under some of the photographs I'd decorated my room with, and pulled out my cell phone.

I debated momentarily over which one I should call first. I decided on Bethany because I felt she would be easier to convince. I waited for a second, studying a loose thread in my skinny jeans, as the phone rang; then Bethany picked up and said, "Explanation now."

She didn't waste a second. For someone who was phenomenally lazy—she outsourced all work possible, rarely put effort into her appearance, and slept through all her classes—Bethany never wasted time. She was astonishingly productive, mostly so she could have more time to do nothing. "I did not sleep with Stiles," I said. "I did leave the party with him though."

"Why'd you leave with him?" asked Bethany. She sounded a little relieved. I would've been relieved, too, if I'd thought one of my friends had slept with Stiles, and then they'd confirmed that they hadn't.

"Long story short," I said, "my brother was having issues and Ava wouldn't answer her phone, so I left with Stiles to go after him." And here came the real trial. "Turns out Scott is a werewolf."

For a beat Bethany didn't say anything. I wasn't sure what this meant, but I had a creeping suspicion. "A werewolf," she repeated, at long last.

"A werewolf," I confirmed. "We found him wandering around the road outside Beacon Hills Preserve super early this morning and he said he transformed last night."

Bethany made a thoughtful sound. "It was the full moon," she mused. "And he confirmed it himself?"

I nodded, even though I knew she couldn't see me. "Yup. Promise."

"You mentioned the wolf at Sisterhood Camp earlier this week," said Bethany slowly.

"Right," I said. "That weirdo stalker dude from the woods? Scott thinks he's the werewolf that bit him and turned him into a werewolf."

For another moment Bethany didn't speak. I stretched my legs out and smoothed down the galaxy-patterned comforter around me. I could only pray she would decide to believe me right now, because this was for real.

Finally Bethany said, "Your stalker, who you hit with a car on Saturday night and saw again on Sunday afternoon, is a phenomenally good-looking werewolf, who bit your brother."

I winced. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry," said Bethany, and I sighed. "But I need photographic evidence of this one." She hadn't even believed the whole Derek Hale thing to begin with, I wanted to tell her, but I wasn't interested in starting a fight. "I don't trust your brother's word. I've spoken to him twice."

That was true. Since Scott and I rarely interacted, he and Bethany interacted even less. Scott was usually out whenever Bethany came over. Their two conversations had probably been at sleepovers, when Bethany was brushing her teeth in the bathroom and Scott wanted to brush his teeth, too.

And honestly I wouldn't have trusted Ava's brothers, or Macey's siblings. Bethany didn't have any. The only person whose siblings I would trust was Riley, and that was because I'd known her whole family for as long as I could remember. "Fine," I said. I did my best not to sound too bitter. "I'll get you some photographic evidence."

"Good," said Bethany with finality. "I want photographic evidence of Derek Hale, too."

Great, so she really hadn't believed me on that one. I was tempted to tell her something random and normal, some white lie, like I'd eaten strawberry Pop-Tarts that morning instead of blueberry, just to see if she would believe me. But it was things like that from middle school and last year that were why she didn't believe me now.

There really wasn't anything else I could do here. Bethany and I talked about the school project we'd been assigned in one of our classes together, and then I told her about my unfortunate run-in with Poppy and Carmen at the library. She also had a story about the Humane Society where she volunteered. And Ava had told her that she'd missed hanging out with Carly Lindbergh, so we talked about that, too.

We hung up after a while and I looked at my phone. I wondered if I should even bother calling Macey. If Bethany wasn't inclined to believe me, Macey certainly wouldn't be. She had a scientific, rational mind; she only believed in what she had seen herself, or what she had legitimate evidence for.

Of course if I didn't call her, she'd continue to think that I, at the very least, had a thing for Stiles. And, if you haven't gotten it, I most certainly did not. I wouldn't date Stiles if he was the last human left on earth with me. I'd let humanity die off rather than go out with him. (For the record, there were legitimate reasons for my intense disdain toward the dude. I'll probably explain them later, but for now they had to do with my dad, Erica, and, of course, my brother.)

I drew in a breath and scrolled through my contacts to find Macey. In a few seconds I brought my phone back to my ear and waited for her to answer. She didn't, and I had to leave a voicemail. "Hi, it's me," I said. "I left the party with Stiles—" I hesitated for a split second, because I wasn't sure I should even bother trying the werewolf idea. Plus, if there were hunters around, who knew who might get a hold of Macey's phone? "—because I needed a ride and Ava wasn't picking up her phone. Only reason, I promise. Call me back."

With that I hung up. Then I dropped my phone onto my bed and heaved a sigh. Well, I thought, turning to hop off my bed and head over to grab one of my lycanthropy books, there was no point in angsting about it. I had research to do.

* * *

After my French class the following morning, I headed out to find Ava. She'd had the same thought as me and had apparently been doing research on lycanthropes all weekend, when she wasn't busy. I glanced down a few hallways as I passed them on my way to the cafeteria, and I spotted Angelie on one of them. _Nasty,_ I thought, shaking my head to myself.

I couldn't find Ava on any of these corridors and I wasn't interested in running around school like a chicken with my head cut off looking for her, so I continued to the cafeteria. It was already mobbed by students and their voices were a cacophony of sound. When I turned toward the table where Bethany, Macey, Ava, and I typically sat, I saw Bethany and Macey there, but no Ava.

That was when the girl in question appeared at my elbow. "Hey," said Ava. I barely had time to repeat the word back before she had threaded her arm through mine and was leading us over to Scott and Stiles' usual lunch table. "We have to talk to them. I want to know more about the transformation."

"But—I want—" I half-protested, turning back to look longingly toward the vending machines. I supposed my grape Sunkist would have to wait for later. So would food, because I was a fool and hadn't brought lunch today. I was terrible at saving money.

Ava walked us over and seated herself beside Stiles. I sat down beside my brother on the other side of the table. Both Scott and Stiles, who had been deep in conversation about something that might have had to do with _Halo_ , stopped talking at once, and turned to look at us. "Hi?" said Scott to Ava, like it was a question. He half-looked to me, probably for an explanation, but I didn't bother offering one.

"You're a werewolf," said Ava, clasping her hands together on the table. "Explain."

Scott flinched, evidently startled by this abrupt admission. Then he shot me a semi-betrayed look. "You told her?"

"Of course I did," I answered. I was personally a little offended by the insinuation that I would keep things this big from my friends. Of course one didn't believe me and I hadn't bothered to continue trying with the other one, but come on, it was Ava.

"Ava already knew on Friday," Stiles added. Scott faced him, even more betrayed, and Stiles raised his hands as if in surrender. "What? She was helping me and Kalyn look out for you at the party!" He side-eyed Ava then. "Sort of."

Ava gave him an unamused look. "I had a crisis."

"Being a werewolf is a crisis," Stiles retorted.

" _Anyway_ ," said Ava, returning her attention to Scott, "you're a creature of the night. A wolfy menace." Stiles laughed, and Scott gave him a dirty look. "Both your sister and I have been doing research over the weekend, but we need to know more. From the wolf's mouth, so to speak."

Scott looked over at me, eyebrows raised. He was clearly asking if Ava was for real. I nodded at him, and Scott sighed, turning back toward Ava and Stiles. "What do you want to know?"

"Hang on," said Stiles. We all looked at him expectantly, and he pointed at me. "Who else did you tell?"

I considered. "Tried telling Bethany and she didn't believe me," I reported. "Riley knows. And I didn't bother trying to tell Macey."

"Good," said Stiles. He glanced back down to pick his hamburger back up, and when he looked up again both Ava and I were looking at him indignantly. "What?" said Stiles, defensive. "The fewer people that know about this the better."

"Because there are very real hunters," Scott put in.

Ava and I glanced at each other and proceeded to have a silent conversation through a series of looks and eyebrow movements. I wanted to be able to tell people; Ava thought it would be best to agree with these two loons. I sighed and turned back toward the other two, both of whom were watching Ava and I like we were from another planet.

"So, uh," said Scott to Ava, "what do you want to know?"

"Do you transform into a full wolf?" Ava asked, leaning a little toward Scott and lowering her voice. "Or are you more wolf-man? Do you resemble Lupin from _Harry Potter_ or the main character from _Wolfman_?" And then, before he had the chance to respond, Ava whipped out her phone, unlocked it, and held it out toward my brother. There was a picture she must have taken of an old book on the screen. "Do you look like this?" She flipped to another picture. "Or this?"

I personally hoped he transformed into a full wolf. This was partly because it would be super cool, and partly because all of the images I'd ever seen of a werewolf were fairly disturbing. The two pictures Ava had were both perturbing, too; one of them made it look like the wolf-man was in agonizing pain and had a bushy tail, and the other one made it look like the wolf-man was literally physically split in half, one side of his face wolf and the other side human.

But Scott lifted his hands in a gesture of unknowing. "I don't know," he said, like Ava was insane. "I didn't exactly have time to go look in a mirror while I was running wild through the woods." He glanced at me again, as if I could give him an explanation.

Instead of doing so I said, "I have some questions myself." Scott groaned, but I wasn't about to have mercy. Instead I rattled off my questions: "Was your bloodlust high? Would you have killed and eaten a chicken if you saw one? How long did it take for you to turn back? Could you speak as a wolf?"

I had more questions, of course, but I thought Scott wouldn't be able to answer them. I was fairly certain Derek Hale would be able to, considering he was an older werewolf who may or may not have been born one, but it wasn't like I had a way to get in touch with the guy. Maybe I should wander out into the woods alone again, or go by a deserted three-way stop.

Scott turned toward me, his eyebrows rising to new heights. "Uh," he said, visibly considering, "I guess my bloodlust was high." He half-glanced toward Stiles, who shrugged. "I don't know if I would've eaten a chicken, I don't even know if I would've eaten a person." He paused. "I guess…well, I guess I turned back after I fought Derek and the hunters showed up. And yeah, I could speak as a wolf."

Instantly Ava and I turned toward each other. This was very interesting information. "You fought Derek?" Ava asked, glancing back at Scott. "Why?"

Scott shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I thought he hurt Allison."

That was interesting, too, because it meant Scott had had at least enough control over his abilities to focus on one goal.

"Was Derek a full wolf?" Ava asked. Scott silently shook his head.

Damn, that was interesting, too. Derek had either been bitten as a very young child and had had plenty of time to get his act together, or he'd been born a wolf. _Argh,_ I thought, because I was coming up with many questions that only a specific seasoned werewolf would be able to answer. "And," said Scott, recapturing my attention, "he held back the whole fight, too. He didn't transform at all."

Ava made a thoughtful sound, and then suddenly turned to steal one of Stiles' French fries. He protested but she ignored him. "I'm sure you don't know," said Ava, "but do you travel in packs? Are there clans?"

"No idea," said Scott heavily. "I know nothing. I won't know any more until the next full moon. Alright?"

Okay, he was getting annoyed. Ava and I exchanged glances, and simultaneously we stood. "Well," I said, ruffling Scott's already-messy black hair, "look out for hunters, brother. I'll see you after school."

Scott swatted at my hand but Ava and I were already leaving. Ava glanced back at Stiles and Scott to wiggle her fingers in a sarcastic little wave, and I didn't bother looking back at all. As Ava and I rejoined the students still walking around the cafeteria, I turned toward her. "The only person who's going to know any answers is Derek Hale," I said in a low voice.

Ava sighed and nodded. "I thought that, too," she admitted. "But there's no way to get in touch with him, and I doubt he'd want to answer our questions anyway."

This was probably true, especially given that I'd run him over once. "I'll be at the table in a second," I said. Ava nodded, and we parted ways. I walked over to the back of the cafeteria, where the vending machines were.

As I went about finding change for my grape Sunkist I thought about it. I guessed that if I showed up on Hale property, just outside the Preserve, Derek would most likely appear to kick me out. However I doubted that trespassing for—what, the third time? Yeah, it wouldn't make for a good opening. There was no way he'd want to talk to me after that.

Well, I thought as I bent over to grab my soda, I had other things to worry about anyway. And I was sure Scott would know more after next month's full moon. I straightened up and turned around, and spotted Ben Goddard, who looked like he might be about to stand up and walk over to me. Beyond him I could see Erica Reyes sitting with her two friends, Isaac and Boyd.

Instead of going over to any of them I turned to walk around and join the lunch line. I really didn't know what I was going to say to Erica to ask her about rejoining KARE. It would be hecka random for me to walk over, sit down, and say, "Hello, Erica. Werewolves do exist after all." Besides, Scott and Stiles didn't want me spreading that around. I wasn't even sure what Erica would do with the information. I hadn't known her in years.

This was too much for me. I'd ask Riley for her opinion later. Although Riley would definitely tell me to just walk over. And, I thought, sneaking a glance back across the cafeteria toward where Ben was still seated, Riley would tell me to just haul off and slap him. I wasn't interested in getting detention yet this semester. It had barely been a week.

Once I had my lunch I headed over to finally sit down at my usual table, beside Macey and across from Bethany and Ava. Bethany had her hood up and her head down on her arms, Ava was Snapchatting, and Macey was flipping through a textbook. "Hey, guys," I said as I set down my tray, and then dropped my backpack beside my chosen seat.

When I sat down, Macey glanced at me. "Stiles?" she said, eyebrows raised.

"No," I protested at once. Ava set down her phone and Bethany shifted around. "I don't even like him as a person, much less want to date him."

"It's true," Ava added. "She hates him."

Macey just side-eyed me with a hint of amusement on her face. I stared back at her challengingly, and she only half-turned toward me. "Look, it's a little incriminating," she explained. "You left a party with him and the first thing you did today was sit with him."

"I sat with my brother!" I exclaimed.

"You're loud," said Bethany, her head still down and her voice muffled.

Macey looked back down at her textbook and Ava and I looked at each other. She widened her eyes slightly, apparently silently trying to tell me not to lose it. I ground my teeth together and looked back down at my lunch. "You know," I said, glancing toward Macey, "he's been in love with Lydia Martin for years."

"Okay," said Macey with a shrug.

I wanted to throw something at her. Instead I groaned. "Can we at least not talk about him, then?" I pleaded. "Even if you think I like him, or whatever? Which, by the way, _I don't_?!"

At least Macey could agree to that, and Ava started a conversation about cats. I did my best not to think about my brother and his foolish best friend myself.

* * *

 _Hey y'all! Thanks so much for reading :) Derek will be in the next chapter, yay! I really will try to update a lot sooner. It should be easier now that I'm out of school :3 If you're still in school and have exams coming up, best of luck! If you're out already too, ayyy, have a great summer!_

 _I don't own_ Teen Wolf _, unfortunately._


	6. And Life Begins Right Away

**ISLEWORTH**

* * *

 _CHAPTER SIX_

 _AND LIFE BEGINS RIGHT AWAY_

* * *

The following morning, between a couple of my class periods, Stiles did nothing to help dissuade my friends from thinking I had a crush on him. In fact he did the opposite, by, when he spotted me in the hallway, walking over to join me by my locker. "What?" I snapped at him when he arrived. I knew Macey's student trainer friend Clarissa was on this hall too, and this information would reach Macey sooner rather than later.

Stiles gave me a mildly offended look in response, but skipped right over it. "I just wanted to warn you about Allison," he said. He glanced around the hallway and stepped closer. In response I moved back, and Stiles huffed in annoyance. "Look, I can't exactly yell this."

"I can hear you," I said.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Just—don't talk about werewolves or mythical creatures of any kind near her, okay?" he said. "Because I don't know if Scott told you, but her father is kind of the head hunter in town, so—"

I immediately held up my hand. Scott had not told me anything of the kind. In fact, after lacrosse yesterday, we'd all ridden home together in Stiles' Jeep, and neither of them said a single thing to me about this. Of course, they'd been arguing about something else, but come on. And Allison's own father was the head werewolf hunter? Did that mean Allison was one? How much trouble could my baby brother get into?! In the past what, four days, he'd transformed into a werewolf, been confronted by a hunter, fought with another werewolf, and found out the hunter was the father of his (maybe) girlfriend.

I sure as heck didn't want to know what could happen in a full week. "I'm going to talk to him," I said to Stiles.

He grimaced and rubbed the back of his head. "Maybe you could not do that?"

"What," I said, eyeing Stiles dangerously, "did he tell you _not_ to tell me?" Stiles' non-response was a response in itself, and I growled to myself in irritation. How did Scott expect me to be able to help if he didn't keep me updated on important things?! Of course this also likely meant he didn't want me to help at all…

Ugh. I knew we didn't really talk, but I'd thought we got along fine enough. Maybe Scott had been secretly resenting me for years. "He doesn't want you to get hurt," Stiles offered.

That was a weak argument and we both knew it. Neither of us said this but I was sure it was clear on both our faces. "I'm going to talk to him," I repeated firmly. I took a step to the side and started to walk around Stiles, back down the hallway. "And you can't stop me."

Stiles made protesting sounds; in a couple of seconds I was too far away for him to say anything without having to yell after me. As I headed to my English class I thought about it. That really was a terrible turn of luck for Scott. But, I thought, maybe it would be better if he stayed away from Allison Argent. I knew I didn't like her. She thought I was a whackjob.

This whole experience was growing increasingly surreal. How did the head werewolf hunter in town just happen to be the new girl's father? Wait, I realized, stopping in the doorway to my English classroom. There was only one reason I could think of as to why a family of hunters would move back—if they knew there were werewolves. And besides Scott, there was only one werewolf in Beacon Hills I could think of.

Jakayle Marsten bumped into me, and I quickly resumed moving, heading for my usual seat by the windows. Bethany was already in her desk behind mine, and she was doing something on her phone. Had the hunters been out on the night of the full moon in search of Derek? I wondered. Why did hunters hunt? _Had_ Derek killed that girl? Did hunters hunt in retaliation, or did they hate werewolves on principle?

To be fair, they had shot my brother, who hadn't hurt anyone, and all he'd been doing was fighting with another werewolf. As I slung my backpack off my shoulders and sat down I wondered why the hunters hadn't just let those two get rid of each other. Wouldn't that save them trouble?

Ugh. I knew nothing, and I hated that. I drummed my fingers on my desk. I really did need to talk to Derek Hale about a few things, and I was going to talk to Scott, too, no matter what Stiles had said. "Hey," whispered Bethany from behind me. I glanced back; she'd leaned forward a little. "Did you do the reading?"

"Nope," I replied.

"Cool," said Bethany before sitting back again. She never did the readings either. And even though there might have been a pop reading quiz today there were far more important things for me to be concerned with.

Like, for example, my brother, who I hunted down—bad word choice—between another couple of classes. I knew when he had Chemistry, so I rushed over to the science hall in the hopes of catching him before he entered his classroom.

I located him in a matter of moments. "Hey, Scott," I called, waving at him.

Scott glanced up at me and furrowed his eyebrows. I quickened my pace to meet him by a set of lockers, and once I reached him I took his arm and pulled him to the side of the hall. Scott was already frowning at me. "What's wrong?" he asked.

He was right to be concerned. "You're not going to try and date her," I said in a low voice, leaning toward him. "Are you?"

For a second he only looked more confused. Then his face cleared and he gave me a flat, unamused look. "What does it matter?" he challenged. "I can hide it. Besides I don't think she knows."

I punched his arm. "About you or werewolves in general?!" Scott pouted and rubbed his arm, and I hit his other one. "Because if hunters hunt werewolves on principle, first of all that's a horrible thing to do and pretty racist against supernatural creatures, and second of all they'll be literally looking for people to hunt—"

"Stop hitting me!" Scott protested, grabbing my arms to hold them in place. I narrowed my eyes at him. "We don't know anything, okay?" Scott said. "So until we actually know something, it's fine. Alright?" He eyed me somewhat warily for a second before releasing my arms.

I considered. Then, as the bell rang overhead for everyone to be in class, I punched him in the arm again. "You're an idiot!" I said, already turning and fleeing. "And you're gonna get hurt!"

"Am not!" Scott yelled after me, though whether he meant he was not an idiot or would not get hurt was unsure. I just raised my hand over my shoulder in acknowledgement, and then I was around the corner and heading to my history class.

* * *

After school I had, as usual, a few options. I could head to the art room and work on a landscape, or the sketch of a wolf I'd started during my own Chem class, or I could go to the library to read up on lycanthropy or Lemuria; or I could go outside to watch lacrosse practice, hope that Scott did not do anything stupid, and perhaps subtly question Allison Argent if she happened to be there.

I chose the last option. But before I went outside I dropped by the school library, in order to find another book on some type of mythological creature. There was no way I'd mention anything about werewolves to Allison, because of my obvious connection to Scott. If he was stupid enough to date this chick I wasn't going to help her hurt him.

Regardless, if I started to chat with her about mythological creatures in general, I might be able to see if she believed in any of them. Somehow, when I thought about her amused reaction to my idea that Derek might be the woods hacker, I doubted she did.

After saying goodbye to Macey and parting ways by the gym—she had student training—I wandered over to the bleachers at the edge of the lacrosse field. A few members of the team were gathering already.

As I walked I squinted up at the gray January sky, and then released a breath. I could see my breath puff white in the cold air. I decided I definitely should have worn my thicker socks.

I rounded the corner of the bleachers and then paused to glance around. I'd taken my time in the hopes that Allison and Lydia would show up before me, and I could walk over and join them. I doubted either of them would care to join me without Ava. I was in luck, because not only was Allison already there, Lydia was nowhere to be seen.

Well, I thought, here went nothing. "Hey, Allison," I said, lifting my hand to wave at her.

Allison glanced over and smiled. "Hi, Kalyn," she answered. I turned and ascended the bleachers. "How are you?" Allison asked, as I stopped beside her.

"Tired and cold," I reported. "Anyone sitting with you?"

Allison shook her head. This was a perfect invitation, and I swung my backpack off to set it down at my feet. I sat and then leaned over to briefly rummage around in it. "So did Scott explain what happened at the party?" I asked as I tried to find my newly-rented book on sirens. I did my best to keep my tone light.

"Yeah," said Allison. "He said he got sick."

I found the book and plucked it out of my bag. Then I zipped my backpack shut and straightened up, book in hand. I glanced over at Allison, who was watching me with a hint of amusement and curiosity. "He was," I confirmed for her. _You're welcome, Scott,_ I thought. "I left a little while after you did to go home and he was throwing up all night."

Allison grimaced. "What was it?"

"Food poisoning or something." I leaned back and moved to set my feet up on the bleacher in front of ours. "Nasty." I half-smiled at Allison, who half-smiled shyly back. Then I looked down to flip open the book.

For a few minutes neither of us said anything, and the lacrosse team mustered on the field. I silently willed Allison to ask me about the book I was reading. Once these few minutes passed and I reread the same paragraph three times, then turned the page just for looks, I started to lose hope she would.

Just after Coach Finstock blew his whistle to get everyone out on the field, Allison said, "So what are you reading?"

 _Thank you, God!_ "A book about sirens," I replied, glancing back up toward her. "From Greek mythology."

Allison looked for a second at my book and then back up at me. "Yeah," she said. "I, um—Angelie said you were really into conspiracy theories, and stuff like that." From the way she said it, like she was trying not to be amused at my expense, I figured she'd also been told I believed in unicorns.

Well, there was no time like the present to dissuade her of werewolves' existence. Surely she wouldn't believe anything I said, anyway. "Yep," I said bracingly. "Mythology too. Sirens, vampires, werewolves, etcetera."

"Did you like _Twilight_?" asked Allison, who was definitely amused now.

I shrugged. "Edward was a little too stalkery for my taste," I replied. "Plus she kept describing him as cold."

"Right?" said Allison.

"So were you Team Jacob?" I asked her.

Allison shrugged one shoulder. At least she seemed like it was just a casual conversation. She wasn't displaying any of the typical signs of someone who was being deceitful—not glancing to the side or fidgeting. "I guess," she said. I wondered if this chick was ever passionate about anything. "He was nicer than Edward."

I hummed in agreement. "Vampires are sort of gross anyway," I remarked, looking back down at my book. From what I could tell Allison was either a trained, experienced liar, or she didn't think any of this stuff existed. Either way I could tell she thought I was a fool. I wished my brother didn't want to date her. "With all the blood and such."

"Agreed," said Allison. "Shapeshifters are cooler." I glanced back up at her, mildly surprised that she was sort of starting her own part of the conversation. "I mean, being able to transform into a giant leopard would be sort of cool."

"I think I'd want to be a dog," I decided, looking out across the lacrosse field. The players were finishing with warm-ups.

Allison laughed. "Isn't that called a werewolf?"

I glanced at her. She didn't know anything—she couldn't have. Unless she was a literal sociopath, and from what I'd read those cropped up a lot fewer times than movies and books would have you believe. "I don't want to be a wolf, though," I told her. "I want to be a cute dog. Like a golden retriever." I considered. "A housecat would be sweet too." I'd be able to sleep on top of shelves and hide in other random high places.

"I can see the housecat," Allison half-joked back. "Or something like a unicorn."

"Sure, but no centaurs."

"No centaurs."

We spent a few companionable minutes in silence, listening to Coach shout at the lacrosse players. I looked up from time to time to try and find the _11_ —that was my brother's jersey number. From what I could tell nothing was going particularly wrong and he was still playing pretty decently. That was good, anyway.

Allison asked me a question about our French class, and then we started talking about Chem class, too, and Mr. Harris, who was the douchiest teacher either of us had ever had the displeasure of having. Neither of us were sure how he'd been hired, why he was still teaching, or why he'd even gone into the field.

She was telling me a story about an old biology teacher she'd had when her phone started to buzz. "Oh, that's my dad," said Allison, glancing down at her phone. "That means he's here to pick me up." She flashed a smile at me and stood, grabbing her bag as she did. "Thanks for keeping me company, Kalyn."

" _De rien_ ," I replied.

Allison turned and started to walk down the bleachers. When she reached the bottom she glanced back up at me and waved. " _À bientôt!_ "

I smiled politely back and answered with an " _Au revoir_." Then she turned, tossing her long dark wavy hair, and walked back along the bleachers. Soon she had disappeared past them.

When she was gone I released a breath and leaned back. That had felt kind of dangerous. And now I was mildly conflicted on how I felt about her. She seemed to genuinely mean well, but she thought I was a freak and her family killed people like my brother—and Derek Hale. And despite my various annoying run-ins with the guy, I have to say I was getting a little fond of him.

I glanced back and craned my neck to make sure Allison was truly gone. Then I closed my sirens book and stowed it away in my backpack. With that done I leaned back again, putting my feet up, and pulled out my phone to group text Ava and Riley.

It was just after I put my phone back into my pocket that something happened. I heard jeers first, and I looked up to see what was going on. Coach was leaning over a player whose number I couldn't quite see, and although I couldn't hear what Coach was saying, I had a feeling it wasn't good. Then the player straightened up and turned.

 _Ah, wonderful,_ I thought, because it was Scott. As he jogged back over to the line of players down the center of the field—they were doing some sort of drill—Coach called mockingly, "McCall's gonna do it again! McCall's gonna do it again!"

I watched with increasing apprehension. I'd missed what the heck my brother had done the first time, but that was definitely Jackson standing a few yards in front of the goal, apparently practicing blocking or something.

Coach blew his whistle. Scott started forward, gaining speed as he went, until he was charging—and he slammed right into Jackson, with so much force that the guy actually flew up into the air before landing hard on the field.

Beside him my brother immediately fell to his knees and gripped his helmet. "Oh God," I blurted. I quickly glanced around—nobody was close enough to me to have heard that—and then straightened up, trying to see what was going on.

The lacrosse players broke out of formation to run over and surround Jackson. Except for one, who went straight to my brother; I had to assume that was Stiles. A few of the onlookers stood up to try and see what was going on, and I stood, too. Then, as I saw Stiles usher my brother back off the field and in the direction of the gym, I walked down the bleachers.

I stopped on the grass in front of them and took a step toward the field. A couple of people were going over to see if Jackson was okay; I turned to look after Scott and Stiles.

Just as I did someone appeared at my elbow. Honestly I half-expected it to be Ava. But when I turned to look again it was, of course, Derek Hale. And this was far closer than we'd been at any of our other various random meetings—he was mere inches away. "Don't go after him," Derek told me in a low voice.

He wasn't looking at me: he had his eyes on the lacrosse field. I studied him briefly, because this was one of the few times I had seen him in relatively clear light, and let me tell you, he was absolutely gorgeous. His jawline looked particularly sharp and the unshaven look suited him well. I could stare at him for days.

Sadly that was not socially acceptable, so I cleared my throat and put my hands into the pockets of my jacket. "Wasn't planning on it," I told him. I turned to look back out at the field. "Can you hear what's going on there?"

Derek didn't say anything for a second, probably listening. "He says his shoulder hurts," he reported.

"Good Lord," I said. I sighed and shifted my weight to one foot. "That guy is an ass, but if Scott's running around doing _this_ sort of thing because of the other wolfy thing—"

"It's not good," Derek finished.

I looked back over at him. He was watching the players on the field calculatingly. With him standing this close, the height difference between us was more noticeable. It wasn't bad, though, he was only a few inches taller than me. That was because I was fairly tall myself. "Why were you talking to Allison about werewolves?" Derek asked, without looking at me.

"I was trying to figure out if she knows her family is deplorable," I replied. I turned more toward Derek, who was still studiously watching the field, and said, "Speaking of, what do you know about hunters? Do they hunt werewolves on principle?"

Derek actually sighed a little. "They say they don't," he answered, "but they do." Then he turned to look straight at me.

For a second I was sure I was going to lose it. I could smell his cologne, which was delicious by the way, and his face was super close, and damn did that beard stubble look good on him. _Fuck me,_ I thought appreciatively. Then I did my best to keep my face straight. "Which is why," Derek told me, after we'd already been looking at each other for at least a beat too long, "it's important that your brother doesn't transform on the field."

I wondered if he was trying to protect Scott. "Agreed," I told him. Then, after allowing myself a split second to glance at his glorious jawline, I faced the field. Jackson was up now and being walked over to the sideline. "Would the worst possible outcome of that be him hurting someone, or people finding out?"

"Both," said Derek.

I grimaced. That possibility hadn't occurred to me. "You know," I realized aloud, "there's a game this Saturday. He's first line." I watched Jackson for a second. "Well, was first line."

"He can't play," said Derek. "Not until he learns control."

That reminded me. I watched Jackson being walked back past the bleachers for a second, and it occurred to me that Macey would have to help him. Then, as everyone else turned to watch that trail of people leave, I turned in the opposite direction, toward Derek. "Can I ask you a couple of questions?" I asked. "Do you mind?"

I saw Derek watch the procession leave the field for a second. Then he focused on me. "That was a couple of questions," he pointed out.

"Okay, fine. More than a couple."

Derek looked very faintly amused. I wondered if he ever looked a lot like anything, other than angry—as in, did he ever laugh? What would it take to make him actually laugh? "As long as it's not too many."

I wasn't sure what would count as too many. I decided I'd have to go for the most important questions that only he would be capable of answering. "Were you born a werewolf?" I asked. "And is that normal? How do packs work? What's the general world population of werewolves? And do you guys turn into full wolves or what?"

Derek studied me for a second. I could tell he was trying to decide whether or not he wanted to answer. _Please answer, please answer,_ I thought hopefully. I didn't know the next time I would see him. "There are packs," he said, at long last. "Which consist of alphas and betas." I nodded eagerly. "There's no way to know the world population, but I know there are certain states with big, well-known packs. Like New York and Washington." He paused. "And some of us can turn into full wolves, but it's extremely rare and takes a lot of practice."

I couldn't help it—I clapped my hands together. "Oh, this is so exciting," I blurted. Derek raised his eyebrows and the corner of his lips turned up a little in a cute little smirk. "I just—I've believed in werewolves for as long as I can remember, and I'm finally getting legitimate information that isn't just hearsay."

Before he could say anything or ask, I quickly added, "Not that I want to do anything with it, I just like knowing."

"In that case," said Derek, as he took a small step back, "vampires do not exist."

My face fell. "Aw, damn," I said. "How the hell am I going to become immortal now?"

"Eating right," Derek suggested. "Exercise." He took another step back. "Staying away from deplorable families and lacrosse games." He pulled his hand out of his black leather jacket to point at me. "Tell your brother that too."

Before I could answer, Derek turned around and started walking in the direction of the woods. "How do I contact you?" I asked, as loudly as I dared with people at the other end of the bleachers, possibly listening.

Derek looked back. "I'll find you."

"That's creepy, you know!" I shouted after him, but he didn't even acknowledge that he'd heard me. Instead, when I looked down to take out my buzzing phone and then looked back up, he had disappeared into the woods.

I shook my head to myself, though with some amusement. _Derek Hale,_ I thought, turning to walk back up the bleachers for my bag. _What an enigma_. Beautiful, beautiful enigma.

He was right, though—I really needed to make sure Scott stayed out of the game on Saturday.

* * *

 _Hey, y'all! Look, I finally updated! :D Hope everyone is having a great summer! And thanks so much for reading! :)_

 _I don't own_ Teen Wolf _!_


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